


a vow of ice

by judypoovey



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Jaime Takes the Black AU, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 63,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judypoovey/pseuds/judypoovey
Summary: Sent to the Wall after his affair with Cersei is discovered, Jaime must watch the world -- and the war he helped start -- from a distance, becoming increasingly aware of the coming storm.
Relationships: Brienne of Tarth/Tormund Giantsbane (minor), Daenerys Targaryen/Margaery Tyrell (minor), Jaime Lannister & Jeyne Poole, Jaime Lannister/Benjen Stark, Joffrey Baratheon/Ramsay Snow (minor), Jon Snow/Ygritte (minor), Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole
Comments: 68
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have no excuse. i have no justification. please blame my partner in crime ~merrymegtargaryen for encouraging me to write the most ridiculous possible canon divergence fic i could muster
> 
> one major note is that like .... if you think the set up is implausible, it takes you zero dollars to comment about it. like. this is self indulgent and fun, and if i stretch some things to make it work... that's what i did. just enjoy the ride with me!

Of all the people in Westeros to catch him fucking, Stannis Baratheon would have been nearly his last choice. Jaime contemplated that moment as if time had slowed down, sitting in the filth of the black cell as he awaited trial. They had grown comfortable with how little Robert cared about Cersei’s comings and goings, neither of them had considered that he would send Stannis to fetch her to inform her of something, even something important. They had been in her private chambers, the first time they'd been close to each other in weeks. Why in the fuck did that sour-faced fool have to interrupt them? 

Well, it wasn’t every day that the Hand of the King died, he supposed. Jaime had to thank Jon Arryn for his timing – Robert was too griefstruck to give in to his normal impulses when things didn’t go his way. He and Cersei weren’t dead, yet, for which he was grateful, nor were the children. 

How long they would sit here before he killed them, he didn’t know. He could hear Cersei’s angry sobbing wherever she was in this labyrinth of cells. The children had been taken from her. Jaime wanted to remind her that Robert was not Tywin, and it was unlikely that anyone would let him kill them.

“Father is coming to King’s Landing,” Tyrion said, startling him from his revere. “Ned Stark and his household ride from Winterfell, as well. Robert means to name him Hand. Then you’ll be given a trial.” He looked very much like he was struggling not to laugh.

He had the right to – for so long he had been the disappointing child, and now look at where they were.

“I’m beseeching Robert for custody of the children today. They’ll forfeit name and title but perhaps they can remain in the Lannister household. Robert has made ominous illusions to sending Joff and Tommen to the Wall, and I’d much rather avoid that.”

Jaime grimaced. “Good luck with that, little brother.”

“Did you kill Jon Arryn?”

“No. What benefit would that bring us?” he said.

“Lysa Arryn said his final words were ‘the seed is strong’, and the same night it is revealed that the Queen is having an affair. The speculation is that he meant  _ your _ seed,” Tyrion said contemplatively. "Lysa took it to mean her boy, but even dying Jon Arryn would never call that boy strong." 

Jaime looked up at his brother, a rare occurrence, and shook his head again. “I had nothing to do with Jon Arryn’s death, Tyrion. Neither did Cersei.” Of that he was less sure, but she did tell him everything, didn’t she?

Tyrion believed him, the only person who ever really did. “All right. Stark should be here in less than a fortnight, and then we’ll see what to do. Robert wants both of your heads. He had several choice words for it.” Jaime could imagine. “But from what I’ve heard, Varys and Stannis are cautioning against it.”

They fear Father, as they should. Executing his children without trial would be cause for war, and the richest man in Westeros, whom Robert Baratheon owes his drinking and whoring to, was hardly an enemy to take lightly. This whole production was a farce, and if they had their wits about them they would release them and chalk what Stannis Baratheon had seen up to a dream and allowed life to continue as it had. But Ned Stark was coming south to take the title of Hand, and Robert listened to Stark more than any man living, especially with Jon Arryn in the ground.

“I’m sorry, brother, but how do you feel being the disappointment for once?” Tyrion finally said, giggling a little.

“Get out of my sight, before I show you,” he said, with no venom to it.

Tyrion disappeared, and he was alone.

“Do you really think he can do anything to help us?” Cersei asked haughtily.

“You don’t have enough trust in him. He’s our brother. He wants to help.”

“You have too much faith in him, he’s a monster and a fool.”

Jaime sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

“I deny it,” Cersei said.

He had been given at least the chance to watch her portion of the trial, to study the flow of her hair and the angle of her face. The betrayal of her words. Jaime had felt relief when they'd been caught. How were they any different from the Targaryens? They answered to no gods, and no one had dared go against their incest. When would it be their turn to be honest? Cersei was the only woman he'd ever felt anything for. 

She denied their crimes in front of all, beautiful and defiant in spite of her weeks of captivity. 

"So Joffrey Baratheon, Myrcella Baratheon, and Tommen Baratheon are not products of incest with your brother, Ser Jaime Lannister?" Ned Stark asked, standing beside Robert while he sat upon the throne, probably too drunk to even follow the proceedings. Sometimes Jaime couldn't believe this was the man he had sullied his entire life to place upon the throne. Why had that damned Stark not taken it? He certainly would have worn the crown better, however he would have loathed it. 

"They are not." 

"And the incest we witnessed?" 

He heard his father, standing beside Cersei, make a noise of protest. She put out a hand to him, her face changing from defiance to grief. "There are many nights my husband is not in my bed. His appetite is well known throughout the kingdom, if I made grievous errors, it was only in the heat of womanly loneliness." Her voice cracked so convincingly, and if Jaime hadn't known the deep hatred she felt for Robert Baratheon, he might have believed her to be a woman driven to the comfort of another by marital neglect.

That wasn't the truth of it, though, and Jaime couldn't conceive of this world he now lived in, where his Cersei sailed him down the river for her own skin. Was the kingdom to think he was some sort of beast, taking advantage of a lonely woman, as well as an Oathbreaker? It went on and on, didn't it? 

_ It's for the children _ , he told himself, avoiding Tyrion's pitying looks. She feared they would be disposed of as swiftly as Aegon and Rhaenys had been. Jaime thinks Robert wouldn't have the stomach for it. He had always been happy to let Tywin enact his cruelty, or Stannis. Sending dogs after the Targaryen survivors and not thinking of the cold reality of his attempts to murder a sixteen year old child. 

"I would see my children remain in King's Landing, and I with them," Cersei said. "Whatever punishment you can throw at me for womanly weakness, do it, but do not slander my children with these absurd tales of incest and bastardry while you do." 

Tyrion had wisely kept the children away from the trial, none of these onlookers needed to see two boys who looked like Jaime in the miniature, and a girl who was simply Cersei, in looks, though not demeanor. 

"So you would retain your place as queen despite cuckolding the king?" Lord Renly asked with a lazy smirk, as though Jaime or half a hundred others couldn't attest to his own disgraceful secrets. 

"Divorce me if you'd like," she said, sniffing. "Do not take a mother from her children. Do not take our King's heir away from him over these unfounded accusations." 

They broke for a luncheon to deliberate, and Cersei and Jaime were returned to the solar that was serving as their holding cell for now. It was too long of a walk to return them to the black cells when he suspected they would have made their decision so quickly. 

"How am I meant to prove my innocence from lies you've told me no plans of making?" he asked, grabbing her sleeve less gently than he'd meant to. She wheeled around with a scowl. 

"Jaime, you're a terrible liar," she said primly, not understanding the depth of dishonesty he had lived in his life. "Say nothing, and maybe they won't strip you of your cloak." 

"If they strip me of my cloak, we can return to Casterly Rock and abandon this pig shit city," he said, a hand on her waist. She jerked away. "Be together like we were meant to." 

"Don't be ridiculous, Jaime, I'm the  _ Queen _ . I will not surrender my crown so that Robert can continue soiling himself with whores and marry some woman-child who will tolerate his drunken foolishness in silence. I will not let myself be set aside because of that teeth grinding menace he calls a brother." 

Jaime recoiled from the heat of her words. Did she truly love her crown more than she did him? He felt as though he had never seen her before this moment -- the scorn and fervent tone of her voice, the wafting smell of damp rot from the black cells returning to him as she flipped her hair. He wasn't sure if that was real or imagined. 

When Ser Barristan came to fetch them, a shame in his eyes that Jaime was so used to seeing, he still hadn't figured out what to say. 

He barely heard the question he was asked. He felt unmanned and hollow.

"Ser Jaime," Stannis repeated, louder, snapping him out of it. "Do you deny your adultery?" 

"I suppose not." 

"And the children; Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen, are they products of this incest?" he asked.

"Who's to say? I doubt it," he said, shaking his head, trying to bolster himself back to the lofty arrogance he was comfortable in. "Robert makes children the way the smallfolk make shit. They cover the city." 

A titter of laughter as Robert drunkenly blustered at the insult. 

"You deny that the royal heirs are bastards born of incest."

"I deny any knowledge of such a thing." 

"You lay with your sister?"

"In a manner of speaking, I suppose," he said, as they had been standing up when they'd been caught. 

"Yet you deny any guilt in the death of Jon Arryn?" Ned Stark cut in, as cold as the frozen nothing he'd come from. He had no patience dissecting their affairs when a man had been murdered, as far as he was concerned. "My good sister Lysa speaks with some surety that you're guilty of his murder."

"An eighty year old man dying of a fever and she names it murder? You haven't seen your good-sister in too long, Lord Stark, she's half-mad these days. She's inventing enemies in the shadows." 

No one had much to say about that. Robert and Stannis and Renly, for all their smugness, knew he was right. Lysa Arryn was mad, half the city knew that. 

"Let us set this sham aside and return to our lives, Your Grace," Tywin said sharply where he had sat silently fuming at Jaime's elbow. He had not spoken directly to his eldest son since his arrival in the city, and his rage and humiliation was palpable. 

"No. Your children have disgraced the crown and you will not buy your way out of it the way you bought your way into his favor after the rebellion, Lord Tywin," Ned Stark said coldly. "Adultery is a grievous crime. While we cannot prove that Cersei's children are bastards, she will be stripped of her titles and return to the Rock. Her children are similarly disinherited, but their care will be arranged by their Uncles and Father. There is simply too much doubt about their origin, now."

"You cannot take my children from me!" Cersei nearly shrieked. 

"I can, and I will," Stannis said, not even looking at her. 

Stark continued. "For the matter of Ser Jaime Lannister, he will be stripped of his white cloak and sent north to take the Black. First Ranger Stark has sent many missives begging for fighting men, and there is no better fighter in Westeros, or so you claim, Lannister. You'll journey north within the fortnight." 

He sat, stunned, feeling the heat of Tywin's gaze on him. He looks for his sister, and sees her pale with rage, too. She doesn't look at him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drove home from work listening to spotify and a random mars volta song inspired me to change the title of this fic. anyway i love whoever is clicking on this and comments are nice but mostly i hope you read this and smiled at least once
> 
> (the song is called 'the apparatus must be unearthed')
> 
> and you can follow me on tumblr @murraybaeman

It felt like more than a fortnight that he waited, alone in the black cells. He had conceived of every escape, every potential way out of the moss and piss soaked stone room he was forced to eat and piss and shit and live in. He hadn't been allowed to see Cersei or Tyrion. From what little information he'd gathered from his gaolers, Cersei would be halfway back to Casterly Rock now. She'd taken Joffrey with her, against the wishes of the council. That was all he got. 

When a hunchbacked man of the Night's Watch came for him and the rest of the prisoners, he was tempted to ask after them all, but his own stewing bitterness kept the words in his throat. Cersei had saved her own skin, and his own insistence that it was for the children felt hollow. Tywin would not be marching down there to collect him from the culminated filth of his own sins. He had done this to their family, and there was nothing else to be said for it. 

He was shackled to a man with filed down teeth and a man with his face obscured by black fabric, dragged from the dungeons and through the streets of the city. He felt the sting of a rotten potato launched at him from some rathole Flea Bottom window. 

Waiting at the city gates was Lord Stark. Or not. Upon closer inspection, this was a younger man, with a leaner frame and longer, darker hair. Too old to be one of Starks' sons. Something reminded Jaime of Brandon, and he remembered that Ned Stark had, at one time, had two brothers.

"Brother Benjen, you'll be accompanying us?" 

"I thought Lord Stark was coming with us," Jaime said. "To escort his captive." He jangled his own chains, an unfriendly scowl on his face. 

"Lord Stark finds himself besieged by your lordly father. I came down with him and agreed to escort you while he helps King Robert maintain the peace. It seems Lord Tywin does not suffer his grandson being stripped of the princehood lightly, and his men attacked my brother and his men in the street. Good men were hurt and killed at his word, though he denies it."

Jaime sighed. Another sin of House Lannister that he would undoubtedly suffer. Tywin had the right of it. Joff was the Heir to the seven kingdoms, though not the most worthy of children. Breaking him out would name him a deserter and he would be killed, he supposed his father wanted to have more influence over the king, so that he might gain a pardon. 

Hopefully. 

Loudly boistering boys bickered amongst the two dozen men marching in their column. He was unchained from his companions, who were thrown in a larger cart with a cage. He was shackled, and Benjen Stark rode beside him. He was leashed to this Stark fucker like he was a dog. 

At nightfall, they found themselves spread out in the barn of a sparse inn. He sat at the fire that they had been granted, still chained. "If I run, they take my head. Do you really think I will?" he asked Stark, jangling the manacles.

"I think you'll kill man woman and child to get out of this mess and hide behind your powerful father," he said with a scoff. He had the right of it, but it wasn't his father he dreamt of running to as they laid there, a cup of ale clasped between chained hands. Movement in a window caught his eye. Just the wind, probably.

"You presume to know a lot about me for someone who has been rotting on the wall for twenty years," he said. 

Stark didn't deign to respond to the bait. "Get some rest, Lannister, it's a long way to the wall, and every one of these men would skin you alive just to say they had. Need to stay on your guard." 

Jaime wasn't afraid of a gaggle of rapers and thieves, nor was he intimidated by Benjen Stark's lofty apathy. 

He saw a blur of movement in the window again, and he furrowed his eyebrows. "Can I at least piss before you force me to sleep?" he asked. "I've been going in a bucket for two fucking months." 

"Fine," he said, and to Jaime's horror, he followed him out, though he only lingered at the door, allowing Jaime to turn the corner out of sight, but only barely out of earshot. 

A child was crouching under the window, bruised and breathing heavily. 

"What are you doing, boy?" he whispered callously at them, dressed as a commoner with a hat pulled low over dark eyes.

"I thought Lord Stark was supposed to be here," he said in a high voice and a northern accent. "I was trying to find Lord Eddard." 

"That's his brother, Benjen," Jaime said. "Lord Eddard stayed in the city, I'm told. Are you part of his household, boy?" 

"I'm _not a boy_ ," they blurted out. 

Oh. Oh shit. 

The girl sobbed, muffling it in her fists. "I was friend to his daughter. When the men attacked our group, I got separated from Sansa and Arya and everyone else and lost in the city. _He_ found me and said he'd keep me safe, because Lord Stark had left the city. _He…_ " She sobbed again. 

" _Who_?" 

"Lord Baelish. He said that Lord Stark and his daughters had left the city and he'd keep me safe until he could get in touch with them and find someone to take me to them. He took me to…"

Gods. Jaime awkwardly reached for her, trying to silence her sobs. Had Littlefinger taken this child to his brothel under the pretense of reuniting her with her family? 

"He kept me there for days and days… A ...a lady… there told me Littlefinger was lying, and that Lord Stark had sent Sansa and Arya away after the attack, but _he_ was still in the city," she said, wiping her eyes. "But that he was returning north soon. She was from the north, too. Ros. She helped me get out and I followed the black brothers here. I didn't want them to send me back to the city, so I tried to wait until I saw Lord Stark." 

"Lannister?" he heard Stark call. "Taking a bit long for a piss." 

"I think you can trust this Stark," he said, even as the little girl ducked behind another bush. 

"What?" Stark asked.

"Just talking to my cock," he said in a droll voice, the picture of casual. "A bedtime routine. I'll be back around in a second, let me get sorted." 

Benjen Stark regarded him warily but went back around to the other side of the barn, and he heard him talking to the old timer, Yoren, once again. 

"What's your name, girl?"

"Jeyne Poole." 

"Jeyne Poole, I'm Jaime Lannister," he said quietly, as though that weren't obvious. "You're going to join our traveling group as an orphan boy who wants to go to the wall, all right?" he said. "They'll stop by Winterfell, and you can tell Lady Stark who you are and she'll keep you safe. Does that sound all right? You don't have to tell anyone who you are if you don't feel safe." 

Jeyne Poole nodded, brown eyes wide with fear.

He returned to Stark and Yoren, and took a spot next to the little opening that passed for a window to sleep. But he didn't sleep. He laid there, considering just spoiling the plot and telling Stark about the girl. It would certainly make his life easier. He didn't believe that Benjen would send the child back to King's Landing, but the ferocity with which she didn't want to tell anyone who she was gave him pause. She wasn't any older than Myrcella, his daughter who wasn't, who he'd certainly never see again. The words stuck behind his teeth. He could keep his word to this one little girl, right?

"Why are you staring at me?" Stark asked, settled down across from him. 

"I'm not," he said, awkwardly rolling so his back was to the other man.


	4. Chapter 4

If any of the others were suspicious of the new recruit that appeared that morning, stuttering through an introduction and explanation, they murmured it amongst themselves and not to Jaime. Not that they talked to Jaime at all anyway.

"It's normal," Yoren told one skeptic. "People send us their unwanted children when we pass through. We always pick up a few recruits like that. Welcome aboard, lad. What did you say your name was?" 

"...Je...Jeron, my lord." 

"Just Yoren, lady." 

Benjen was watching 'Jeron' with suspicious eyes, but kept characteristically silent. Two of the recruits of an age with Jeyne, a fat boy called Hot Pie and a skinnier, tow-headed boy named Lommy Greenhands, approached her. 

"You're scrawny for a boy," Hot Pie said, gently shoving her shoulder. 

"Well, at least I'm not some great fat oaf," Jeyne snipped back, her accent far too polished for the story of an abandoned orphan. 

They looked too stunned by her barb to really respond, and she turned and walked up to Jaime. "Ser Jaime," she said, in a voice of false bravado, still too high for a boy of her age. "I saw you in a tourney last year." 

"Did you? Well, then you know to be wise and not cross me, Jeron," he said, elbowing her slightly. She looked wounded, and he rolled his eyes, hoping she understood the need.

"Got yourself a fan, Lannister?" Yoren barked with a laugh. 

Jaime didn't respond, just kept walking. 

Jeyne was abysmal at pretending to be a boy, so it was good no one truly had reason to suspect a girl stowing away amongst the recruits, otherwise they may have figured it out when she recoiled at talks of pissing and cocks and hid in the woods every time she made water. She tried to justify her shyness, but truly none of these men cared. They were all walking corpses, fodder to freeze to death on the wall. They weren't paying close enough mind to some scrawny fourteen year old who seemed to follow their most controversial recruit about like a wounded pup.

"I don't think he's related to you, Lannister. Not your type," one barked at him when Jeyne laid out her threadbare bedroll near where he had settled for the night.

"He's a child, you great buffoon. Leave him be," was all he could say. His blisters had blisters, and they slept mostly on the cold hard ground. Some inns would house them, but most turned a cold eye to the wandering brothers in black. He was too miserable to tolerate the sniping of fools.

The caged recruits, three of them crammed into the back of a rickety cart, eyed them with extra interest. Jaime sat, still in shackles, never more than arm's length from Benjen Stark. What did he even have to flee to? A father he'd humiliated, a sister who had abandoned him? He had little recourse but to die at the Wall, now. First, he had to get Jeyne Poole home to the Starks she trusted. Then he could die.

"Sweet boy," one crooned to Jeyne in an unrecognizable accent. "Some water?"

She hesitated with the waterskin Benjen had given her, reaching out with gently trembling fingers. 

Jaime sat a little straighter and watched. He took the water from her with muttered gratitude.

"The fuck you looking at?!" the other caged recruit snarled, his filed down teeth glinting in the morning sun. "I'll fuck you with those sticks you're holding, boy."

Jaime rose to his feet and strood over, snatching the waterskin back from the foreigner, and shoving Jeyne back behind him as she bit back audible sobs.

"Going to fight me, Lannister? The only reason you're not in here with us is cause they know I'll rip your throat open. What d'ya think they'll call someone who kills the Kingslayer? The kingslayerslayer?"

Stark had caught up, grabbing Jaime by the shoulder and steadying him. "No one is fighting now. Keep it up and I'll have you hanged as soon as you don a black cloak," he snapped at the man in the cage, before turning to hold searing eye contact with Jaime. "Noble as your intentions were, don't pick fights, Lannister," he said in a low voice, steering Jaime away.

Jeyne was watching Stark with a tiny bit of reverence mixed in with her fear. She was afraid of everyone. Mostly men, which is what she had the misfortune of being surrounded by. 

She got on all right with the young recruits, Hot Pie and Lommy and a muscular dark haired boy who could only be Robert's son. She wasn't afraid of them, or Jaime. Everyone else made her cringe, even Noble Brother Stark.

"It's m'lord."

"What?"

"Highborn say 'my lord', lowborn say 'm'lord'. If you're going to keep up this farce, become a better actor." 

She turned her eyes down, hiding her shame and hurt. "You suggested this farce."

He sighed. Could he not go one single day without hurting someone? "Well I thought you'd be better at it." Gods take his mouth. 

"You think you could do better pretending at being a girl?" she shot back.

Instead of conceding, he simply changed the subject. "Benjen would see you safely to Lady Catelyn, Jeyne," he told her as they walked further away from camp to find more firewood. He wasn't sure why Stark trusted him to go with 'Jeron'. His ankles had been unbound but his hands were still chained.

He was exhausted by her constant presence at his side. He was tired of keeping everyone's secrets. He wanted to be done with it.

"I just… I don't want _those_ men to know." She was thinking of the caged men, Rorge and Biter.

Jaime considered this for a moment. "Did Littlefinger...I mean, Lord Baelish...in his brothel…"

Tears were in her eyes. "...The night Ros helped me get away...she said Meryn Trant liked young girls and -- I…" 

Jaime nearly dropped the wood he'd so clumsily gathered in his tethered arms. "Don't say it. I always new Meryn Trant was a cunt." 

Despite her short-breathed sobbing, she almost laughed. And people named him the most wretched of the Kingsguard?

"I don't think Stark is like that, nor Yoren. But I understand." His father kept enough monsters in his employ that he knew that they come in all shapes and sizes. 

"No, you're right. I think Lord Benjen is very noble," she said. "Handsome, too."

Jaime didn't know why she was staring at him as she said that, a wicked grin breaking over her blotchy, tear stained face.

-

The rider came in the night. "Can I share your fire, brothers?" He asked, plucking a harp string. "I can pay in news from the Capitol." He looked at Jaime as he said it, as if he knew that Jaime was desperate for word of anything. As if he knew who Jaime was under the fresh beard and layer of muck. "They call me Marillion, I'm a great singer around these parts." 

"As long as you don't sing, the fire is free," Stark said.

"The Starks know no music but the howling of wolves," Marillion said with a sad twang. "Robert is to remarry," he said. "Upon the nameday of Margaery Tyrell, she'll be wed to him and her gallant brother Loras will don a white cloak." 

Margaery Tyrell was more of an age with Renly, or a bit younger. Jaime knew the Tyrells to be great friends to the youngest Baratheon. He had found an opportunity to bring his lover to court and win the loyalty of the second richest house in the kingdom. Good for him. At least if he got caught it wouldn't cause a war. 

"Lord Tywin is still disputing that Joffrey is Robert's rightful heir. He raids Crownland villages in his rage."

Jaime ignored the eyes on him. Jeyne watched the singer, rapt with attention. Unlike Stark, she clearly hoped for a song.

"The crown musters to defend itself from Tywin's rage. Northerners rally to support the Hand. There will be trouble passing through the Neck, even for sworn brothers." He plucked another string.

"We'll manage fine, but your concern is noted," Stark said, tone haughty. "Rest," he demanded of his recruits.

Jaime was barely asleep, watching Jeyne fitfully toss and turn. He heard the thundering of hooves, the murmur of voices, and sat up, shaking awake Jeyne. 

Benjen had been awake too, fire reflected in his eyes as he gestured for them to stay quiet. He drew his sword and stood. 

"Who goes?" He asked.

"Armory Lorch."

 _Father's men_ , Jaime thought. 

"Long way from home, aren't you?" He asked.

"We're looking for Ser Jaime. The Queen ordered him pardoned." 

"If by Queen you mean the now disgraced Cersei Lannister, I'm afraid her influence does not reach the Wall. You'll need to turn back and tell her such, as she seems confused about her status now."

His heart lurched. Cersei wanted him to come home? The thought ached at him. He could nearly feel the graze of her fingertips, the whisper of his name…

"Ser Jaime," Jeyne muttered, afraid. 

Reality set in as Armory Lorch drew his sword, steel meeting steel. The other recruits were awake now, scrambling away from the red cloaks, or scrambling towards their weapons. 

"Get them to the wall, Yoren," Benjen commanded, his voice shifting down. He was not simply a brother of the night's watch, he was a Ranger, and he was in charge now. "Take Jeron to safety, and the other young ones." He looked at Jaime when he said it.

Daring Jaime to join the fray, shackled through he was. Daring him to abandon the child hanging from his arm. Did he go home or did he keep this stupid promise to this daft little girl? A fire blazed between where Benjen exchanged another blow with Armory and stepped back. The caged recruits shouted their dismay.

"Help us," one shouted, in that strange accent. 

Jeyne, afraid, tried to pull Jaime up. "We should --"

He allowed himself to be dragged, intending to shake her off and join his rescue. 

Only, he had promised. Promised to take Jeyne Poole home. 

Instead he found himself pulled towards the burning cart. Jeyne found a dagger on the ground, dropped by one of the scrambling men. She struggled with the lock until a frustrated Jaime took it from her, breaking the lock with more ease, releasing the burning recruits.

"Let's go, let's hide," she said, and even as he looked liberation in the face, he allowed the little girl to drag him into the shadows. Lorch hadn't even seen him. He'd always been a fool.


	5. Chapter 5

Stark found them by morning, astride a horse that hadn't belonged to him the night before. "You're full of surprises, Lannister," he said, dismounting in front of them. There was a cut along his left cheek, and he smelled vaguely singed. Behind them, the three boys struggled to catch up.

"Where's Yoren?" 

"He's taking the rest of the recruits along the Kingsroad. You've gone missing in the confusion, I'm afraid, so the red cloaks won't bother with him and the other men while they search for you. We're taking the back way," he said. "Giving a little chase, probably. Might be."

A guile plan. "I could just run now."

"You could, but you haven't yet. We're halfway there, Lannister. Act honourably, for once in your miserable life." 

_ Miserable _ , there was one way to put it.

"Ser Jaime has been honourable!" Jeyne said boldly. "He saved me!"

"And are you done with this farce of being a boy from King's Landing?" Stark asked, wheeling around to her. "You're a northern girl. How no one else noticed is beyond me."

Jeyne balked. "My Lord…" She knew she was caught, by the look in her eyes. "I just wanted safe passage to Winterfell."

"Don't worry about her," Jaime said, furrowing his eyebrows. "Unshackle me. I have no intention of running. I promised Jeyne I'd help her to Winterfell." He had never been one for promises before, but he'd already squandered one chance of escape, hadn't he? He may as well see this to the end and figure the rest out later. He wasn't Tyrion, he wasn't a planner. 

"Jeyne?" Benjen said, balking. "My niece's little Jeyne?" 

Jeyne nodded, tearful.

"Who is Jeyne?" Hot Pie asked. "Why are you talking about Jeron like that?"

Gendry elbowed his denser friend. " _ She's _ Jeyne. Not Jeron."

"You were a girl the whole time," Lommy said stupidly.

"A... friend said it would be safer to travel as a boy," she said, wiping her eyes. "I didn't know who I could trust so I didn't say anything, begging your pardon, Lord Stark."

"You don't need to call me Lord Stark," he said. "And you chose to trust Jaime Lannister over me?"

She paled. "I didn't mean any offense, I just...I wasn't sure...I'd never met you, and after... " She turned and began sobbing into Jaime's shoulder, and he was frozen and awkward, being gaped at by the four in front of him. With some trepidation, he patted her head uncomfortably. He had never been tasked with comforting any of his children before. Cersei had always kept them at a distance from him, for fear someone would notice the resemblance, or think it untoward that her brother was more interested in her children than their 'father'. 

"It doesn't matter," he said. "We'll make haste for Winterfell, off the main roads, though. I'm not fighting anymore of your father's dogs," he said, jabbing Jaime in the shoulder and turning back to his horse. "Hot Pie, Lommy, Gendry, you make sure nothing befalls Lady Jeyne on our trip. Keep an eye out for her when the Kingslayer and I can't."

He wanted to rankle at the name, but Stark was unlocking his shackles, and it put him in a charitable mood. He settled for a quick and decisive headbutt. Stark reeled, but quick as anything recovered and brought a fist up to Jaime's jaw. Jeyne shouted in alarm, jumping back from the tussle. 

"Figured I'd only be getting one shot at that," he said with half a grin, rubbing his wrists. Being in captivity had scarred them, raw red stretches of what had once been clear pale skin. 

Benjen, satisfied his nose wasn't broken, actually smiled. There was something wolfish about it. He really wore the name of Stark, even moreso than his lord brother. 

True to his word, they traveled backroads, not stopping at even the most far flung inn they came across. The second night, Stark gestured him over, brandishing a knife. "We need you less recognizable," he said by way of explanation when he razored off a swath of Jaime's hair before he could even react. 

After his initial shock, he wilted, and allowed himself to be shaved. His beard went untouched, and he studied his reflection in the stream they had set up camp by. He looked older, he thought, and less like Cersei. That would be for the best.

When he returned to the fire, Jeyne was laughing with the boys, looking more at ease than she had in the days he'd known her. She choked on her water when she saw his shaved head. 

"I like it," she hastily corrected. "Very different." She had abandoned the cap she had worn, and Jaime was not even cruel enough to comment on the jagged way that her hair had been hacked off, sitting at her ears. 

He didn't much care for the opinions of teenage girls, and simply ate the fish they had mustered up for dinner and ignored the braying laughter of the children next to him. He thought to make conversation with Stark, but he did not join them at the fire, instead standing watch some feet away, stern in the dim light. Jeyne had named him handsome a few days before, and Jaime tried to get that thought out of his head.

They traveled two more nights, the weather growing colder and the air getting clearer as mountains rose up off in the distance. They were past the Vale of Arryn, now, if he knew his geography. Which there was a good chance he didn't.

He stirred from his sleep by the faintest splash of water. Jeyne was sleeping nearby, as she always did, still preferring to keep close even among those she knew to be friends. He sat up and she startled awake, but no one else did. In the dying embers of the fire, he caught a glimpse of a man. There was something familiar to him. His hair seemed red, but when he turned, seemed white. 

"Lion of Lannister," he said in a faintly accented voice. "Sweet girl, Jeyne of House Poole," he said.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" Jaime asked.

"Here and there," he said, dismissive. "A man has come to repay a debt," he said. "A girl saves a man and his three companions from death. The Many-Faced God is owed those three lives a girl and a man have stolen."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"A man has the honour of being Jaqen H'Ghar of Lorath," he said. "Speak three names, and three lives will be given to God."

The man was speaking absolute jibberish. Jeyne looked at him, confused. Neither of them believed, necessarily, what they were hearing. "So we tell you three names and they'll die because we saved three lives?" he said with a disbelieving snort. 

"It will be done." 

"Robert Baratheon," he said with a chuckle, not at all believing this man for even a moment. What sort of lunacy was this? 

"Petyr Baelish and Meryn Trant," she blurted out, perhaps too loudly, something like hopefulness in her eyes. 

"It will be done," was all he said, melting back into the shadows. The swift silence with which he disappeared had Jaime doubting he had even seen anything. 

"That was nonsense," he said, with lessening confidence. "Go back to sleep."


	6. Chapter 6

Another two weeks passed before they saw the gates of Winterfell. Word on the road was that Robert Baratheon had quickly and solemnly wed the Tyrell girl. The singers called her a pretty slip of a girl who, much like the reputation of her grandmother, was likely hiding more intelligence than Robert was capable of handling. Something about winding vines holding down a great stag. Blah blah, the same tired metaphors.

He was glad to see Robert's hands off of his sister, though the way it happened hadn't been what he'd hoped for. He had dreamt of killing the man a hundred times or more, every time he had to listen in on Robert's lechery, the disrespect of their family. Every time he had to attend to the King as he drank himself into oblivion with Thoros of Myr and the rest of the drunken idiots that hung about court.

He thought that having a king who wasn't killing people upon his every whim would be better, and yet serving under Robert had frayed his ruined conscience nearly as much as Aerys had. He supposed serving under Lord Commander Mormont and First Ranger Pompous was likely to expose him to fewer horrors overall. Honourably defending the realm from stick-welding wildlings and grumpkins and snarks. Nearly as much of a joke as the Kingsguard had been. 

They were welcomed by the eldest son. He hugged his uncle with enthusiasm, and then stepped back to regard the rest of the motley traveling band. 

"Where's Lady Catelyn?" 

"In the south, for the wedding. Lord Hoster has taken ill, so she thought to see our father and her own. I'm Lord of Winterfell in her absence." He was a boy of seventeen if he was a boy of ten, flanked by a smirking, dark-haired boy. A Greyjoy, Jaime noted vaguely. 

"Jeyne Poole?" Robb Stark asked, finally seeing the girl where she cringed behind Gendry. 

"Robb -- Lord Stark -" she stuttered. "I...is Sansa here?"

He hugged her like an older brother would, nearly suffocating her. "Yes, they arrived weeks ago. We thought you lost forever! Sansa thought you had stayed in King's Landing with Father, and Father thought you were with Sansa! I...worried you'd never turn up." The 'alive' part of the sentence went unspoken. 

"I'll fetch Lady Sansa," Greyjoy said, bestowing an unironic smile on little Jeyne, who turned dark red. He disappeared, and reappeared a few moments later with Sansa, a prim redhead, nearly as tall as her elder brother, and the little one, too, Arya. Sansa grabbed Jeyne so tightly she might have never let her go, both of the girls sobbing into the other.

"I hadn't thought to host the Kingslayer," Robb said, turning back to his uncle.

"I hadn't thought to stop, but Lannister found Jeyne and wished for her to be returned safely."

Robb Stark gave him an odd look, but said nothing. "...We thank you. You can bathe and change into something fresh, dinner won't be long."

Jeyne was happily introducing Lady Sansa and Arya to her friends, all of them laughing and clearly joyous to be around children their own age. Jaime was left awkward in the entryway. 

"I suppose I'll show you to the Guest quarters," Benjen said, pushing him forward. Servants had already drawn a bath when they found where Lord Stark intended to keep them. "You can take it, I don't need it. You Southron lordlings can't stand a bit of filth."

Truly they both needed it, but Jaime didn't need to be told twice. He was even fine to ignore the jab, stripping off his boots and all the rest of it for the first time in weeks.

"Not even going to wait for me to leave, Kingslayer?" There was just a hint of mirth in his voice, though. "Or is this an invitation?"

"What, you northern lordlings can't stand the sight of a naked body?" he shot back, grinning at Stark as he sank into the blessedly hot tub, ignoring the question.  "Not yours, no," he said, though his lingering gaze told a different, more complicated story. 

Jaime focused on scrubbing himself clean and left those thoughts alone, happy to see the accumulated filth slough off of him for the first time in so many weeks. 

Hot Pie had found his way into the kitchen, judging by the consternation of the cooks as they brought the food out. He was a dab hand at it, Jaime knew from what limited cooking they'd been able to do on the road. "You should cook here," Arya said, mouth full of bread and gravy. 

He balked, looking at Benjen as if the Ranger might take his head for a deserter right that instant. 

"You've sworn no oaths to the Watch, you could stay in Winterfell if the Lord has a place for you," Benjen said genially. 

"I'm a blacksmith," Gendry said, eager to throw his lot in with the Starks. "If there'd be work for me here, I could…"

"Look at that, you've thrown away all your recruits, Stark," Jaime said from the far end of the table where he'd been relegated. Jeyne had insisted on sitting nearby, and Sansa had joined her, though it wasn't her usual spot. She seemed loathe to be parted from her friend. 

"Boys this young should be offered a choice, so they know what they're sacrificing when they say the words," he said. "The Watch will survive without these three."

"There were tidings from King's Landing," Lord Robb announced, looking up from the scroll his Maester had slipped him. "They say Margaery Tyrell may already be with child."

So Robert will have his heir and be rid of the stain Cersei had left upon his legacy, Jaime considered bitterly. He finished his wine quickly, and made his excuses. He could send a raven to Cersei now. Perhaps they could make their escape to Essos together. They wouldn't bother to find him there, just for deserting the Watch. Jeyne was safe, after all. He'd kept a promise, for once. 

"Tywin will dispute it to his dying breath, trying to get Joffrey on the throne," Theon Greyjoy said, smirking as he seemed to. Only now his eyes were on Jaime's retreating back. "And if keeps attacking Lord Stark, his dying day will be sooner than not." He said it as if he meant to ride down and kill Tywin himself, which was an amusing thought.

Jaime considered going to the rookery and write to Cersei. Plead to his sister for rescue. Instead, he went back to the guest house and fell into the bed. It was more comfortable than anything he'd slept on in nearing four months, and that felt more important at that moment. She wanted him back, maybe, but… the way she had acted in the trial gnawed at him a little. 

There was a knock on the door. 

"Come to watch me bathe again, Stark?" he joked.

Jeyne stopped halfway through opening the door, and he gaped in horror. 

"That was a jest," he said. "I didn't expect you." 

She snorted. "Clearly." Then she lingered, sitting at the edge of his bed. "I didn't mean to disturb you, I just wanted to apologize for Theon. He can be unthinking, sometimes. I hope he didn't offend you, you've been very kind to me."

"Oh, I don't believe he wasn't thinking," he said with a grim smile. "And it's not your responsibility to apologize for them. They can make all the jests they want, I've heard all of them." He hadn't heard anyone call him kind in so long, though. Had he ever? Maybe Cersei had lobbed it at him as a weapon in a row. 

Jeyne sighed. "You'll be leaving soon."

"Whenever Stark deems it time to go, yes." 

She looked sad at the thought. "I...thank you for your help."

"It was nothing." A chance to reclaim some lost honour, maybe. Just a simple favor for a child. Who would begrudge her? As monstrous as he was, he couldn't imagine being that cruel. 

Jeyne leaned over to hug him, and he found himself stiff and awkward again, returning it and feeling a foreign warmth in his chest. "The wall isn't so far. Perhaps you'll visit."

"Perhaps," he lied. 

The door opened once again, and Benjen Stark lingered in the doorway. "Oh." 

"I'm sorry...I was just coming to...thank Ser Jaime. For his help on the journey. I beg your pardon, my Lord." She ducked her head, hiding a smirk as she escaped Benjen's scrutiny.

"What were you --?"

"Don't imply anything untoward, Stark, she's a child. She was apologizing for that idiot Greyjoy's behavior. Not sure why."

"She's just taken a fancy to him, that's all. We always apologize for the people we're smitten with," he said dismissively.

Jaime had apologized for Cersei half a hundred times in his life, so it wasn't like he could argue the point. "Much experience with that, with those vows of celibacy, Stark? Often smitten?"

"How many brothers of the Kingsguard kept that vow? I can tell you the same is true of the Watch."

"Oh, so you broke that vow?" A keen pause. "The women of the world must rejoice."

"I haven't been taking any women into my bed."

"How honourable."

They stared at each other for a second before Benjen left, and he thought it passing strange he hadn't even told him what he'd come to Jaime's room for before leaving. 

Until halfway through the night, when it dawned on him what Benjen had actually said. How he'd missed it, he wasn't sure. 

He was a fool.


	7. Chapter 7

They rested for two days and broke their fast with Lord Robb and his siblings the morning of their departure. "Send our regards to Jon," he said by way of farewell.

"And mine to your mother when she returns," Benjen said. 

Jaime had been unsubtly and unsuccessfully avoiding him since the prior night. The implication he'd overlooked now hung heavy between them. Of course the wall would attract men who had no desire for a wife in the way Renly Baratheon had no desire for a wife. He had not expected such candor from his captor, that was all.

Jeyne's assertion of his handsomeness floated back into his mind, and her laughter as she left his room the other night. Did she believe --? 

He almost wheeled his horse around to return to Winterfell to set the record straight with that fanciful little girl, but he doubted he could convince Stark of the worthiness of  _ that  _ detour. 

It was a few days between Winterfell and Castle Black. Benjen seemed less concerned with Jaime being nearby. He supposed he assumed Jaime would never survive the north on his own with no supplies or allies, and wasn't at risk for fleeing. 

They set up a camp for the night, sitting across it, a healthy distance between them. "I watched you in the tourney of Harrenhal." It was a statement. Not praise, not a slight. Just a fact.

"The day I pledged myself to Aerys. The day I ruined myself." He'd been honest with Jaime, so it felt polite to be truthful in return. He doubted Benjen Stark would go gossiping to the fisherwives about Jaime Lannister's internal turmoil, after all. 

"Ruined yourself?"

"I took the cloak so I couldn't be married off to someone like Lysa Tully and I could be at court with Cersei. She thought it was a brilliant plan. I robbed my father of his heir. None of this would have happened, if I hadn't." Hadn't listened to Cersei. Hadn't been so arrogant and blind. If he had even an ounce of Tyrion's political savvy. 

"No use dwelling now. Your sins are wiped clean the day you don the black cloak. No more Kingslayer, I suppose."

"I don't think I can ever stop being who I am, no more than you can, or your Lordly brother, no matter what oaths we swear to whatever higher principle."

Benjen looked up from fletching arrows. "I'm always a Stark, it's true. But my duty is to the realm first and my family last."

"When I took the white I thought my duty was to the realm, and I did what I thought was best for it, and they named me Kingslayer." They were silent after that, cold bitterness silencing whatever camaraderie they had been trying to build.

He could see the wall looming in the distance the next morning, clear and crisp. They were so close to the end of this hellish journey. Once they were settled, he could figure out the rest. He could die there or he could flee. What difference did it make, really?

Or he could kill Stark now and run for it and who would know? 

The horse screamed its dismay and shuddered to a halt when a pair of shapes walking out towards them, blocking the path. He recognized them after a moment. Rorge and Biter. They had been missing since the night Armory Lorch had attacked the traveling party. He assumed they would never cross paths again 

"Coming to join us at the wall?" he asked, noticing the fresh steel at their sides. 

"Hardly. Got offered a pretty bit of gold to bring you with us," Rorge said with a wheezing laugh.

Jaime dismounted. "Oh, really?"

"Kingslayer," Benjen said in a warning tone, dismounting as well and drawing his blade. "Don't do anything regrettable." 

"Oh, you know I don't regret anything," he lied, casting a cheerful smile over his shoulder. "So, you've come to take me back to my father. I take it you have a weapon for me, then?" he asked. Rorge was one of those fools who wore two swords, out of some misguided attempt to look more formidable than he actually was.

If he could just get a sword in his hands…

"Don't be a fool, Kingslayer. We're taking you to daddy all safe like, what do you need a sword for? To kill us so Tywin doesn't have to pay us?" 

The thought had occurred to him, of course. He didn't say anything, allowing their lacking brains to catch up.

"We can  _ make _ you come, if you'd rather, pretty man," he growled. "Don't be difficult."

"Why is everyone offering me that this week?" he said, scratching where his hair was growing in. Benjen audibly groaned. Rorge stepped closer and Jaime took stock of his truly abysmal grip. This was who Tywin sent after him? One attempt with real soldiers and then he resorted to  _ this _ ? Pathetic. 

If he were honest with himself, this seemed like more of a scheme his sister would hatch, and knowing that she still wished for his return lit something in him that he'd buried. But he wasn't such a fool to trust these beasts masquerading as men. He could get back to her in his own way.

Biter lunged first - for Stark. Longsword wasn't the ideal weapon against someone attempting to get in close and bite you. He didn't let himself be distracted, but Rorge did. 

A quick twist of the wrist removed the sword from clammy ham-hands, the blade drawn to the meaty neck of his would be rescuer. He chanced a look back and Stark had drawn a dagger, abandoning the sword for close combat. Pragmatic.

Rorge drew the second sword on his belt, just as cheap and shoddy as the one in Jaime's hand, and met Jaime's blow. 

Jaime was faster and stronger but there was a lot of danger in the way a man like Rorge attacked. He was damn near feral, more dog than man. That sort of recklessness did not mesh with the finesse of a trained knight.

So he parried the blow and turned to Biter, watching the big man sink his sharpened teeth into Stark's elbow before using the distraction to sink the blade into his neck.

Stark looked surprised, as though he'd expected that sword to come for him instead. Kicking off the rapidly dying beast, Jaime reached to help him to his feet, and Stark grabbed his abandoned sword, making a long swing around Jaime's side, catching the forearm of the attacking Rorge.

Jaime turned with an elbow to his face and swung back in time for Benjen to take his dagger, awkwardly in his left hand, in between Rorge's ribs. A quick, efficient kill.

Breathing heavily and standing far too close to one another, they surveyed the bodies on the ground, and then each other. Bloodied but in tact, Jaime started to laugh.

"You really thought I was going to go with  _ them _ ," he said, his breath still short.

"Well, you're not the brightest man I've ever met. It was always a possibility." He looked sheepish, though, wiping some blood away from his eye. He only succeeded in smearing even more across his face. Jaime reached up on impulse, wiping the smudge away before he recoiled, realizing just how familiar the contact was.

"We need to clean that bite before it takes your whole arm," he said, mindlessly considering that Benjen was sure to have dealt with human bites before, skirmishing with wildlings. 

It took the better part of an hour to find a stream, glassed over with the faintest layer of ice. Sitting down and building a fire, he watched Stark rip his sleeve off, trying it over the freely bleeding bite, just above his elbow, and sat down, collapsing with a tired sigh. 

Ice cold water from a dirty stream probably wasn't the best way to clean a wound, but it was what they had. Jaime cleaned it as gently as he could, and Stark didn't react. Taking the edge of the piece of shit blade and holding it over the fire until it glowed a dull red, pressing it to the bloody wound. 

Stark didn't react.

Jaime wasn't so arrogant he couldn't be impressed by that. 

"We'll be at the wall by tomorrow," Stark said with surety. 

_ Finally _ , Jaime thought. 


	8. Chapter 8

Stark woke with a fever. He denied it, but Jaime could see the pallor in his face and feel the heat on his skin when he checked the makeshift dressing over his elbow. 

The wall couldn't arrive soon enough.

Jaime had never been to the wall, but the stories he'd heard of it hardly did the towering ice justice, vanishing into the clouds above them, as if it never truly ended.

Castle Black was not vast, though he'd expected so much. It bustled with life as the gates opened and they stepped into the courtyard. Young recruits were running drills, older of them seemed to be packing horses. Preparing for a ranging, he supposed. Jaime was only then aware of how much colder it had gotten since they'd gotten north. Their meandering, protracted journey had made the temperature change feel gradual, but he didn't think he'd ever felt King's Landing as cold as it was there, even during the last winter. 

Was winter coming for true? 

It didn't matter. He entertained his chilled mind with thoughts of the beaches of Volantis. Did winter ever come in Essos?

A dark haired boy, nearly the double of Benjen, rushed over, grinning at the sight of the ranger as he weakly dismounted his horse.

"Uncle, you've finally returned," he said.

Ah, Jon Snow. 

"I have."

"And you're the Kingslayer," Jon Snow said, clearly possessing a keen mind, having solved a great mystery very quickly.

"And you must be Ned Stark's bastard," he said, holding out a hand, which Jon Snow didn't shake.

"He means no offense, lad. He'd have to be intelligent for that," Benjen said, waving Snow off. Snow returned to a gaggle of recruits of his age; a fat, timid looking one, a big eared, scrawny one, and a tall one with a beard.

"First Ranger," a rumbling voice called.

"Lord Commander, I've brought our recruit. Not without some difficulty, I'm afraid."

Jeor Mormont, a bear of a man with a white beard and keen eyes, clearly rippling with muscle under heavy cloak and fur despite his age, regarded Jaime. "You've got the right of it, we expected you a fortnight ago. Yoren arrived and said you'd be right behind him."

"Waylaid by Lord Tywin and stopped in Winterfell. We're here now. Is there a ranging?"

Jeor crossed the courtyard and stood between the two of them. "I had intended to lead a ranging beyond the wall to find some information on Mance Rayder and these rumours of the Others. I suppose I'd be remiss if I didn't let you lead that ranging."

Benjen frowned. "Truth be told, Lord Commander, I might not be in the condition to. Took a wound in a fight. Let me rest a week and then we can go out."

"It can wait no longer. Since your Lordly brother called you south, three more rangers have gone missing north of the wall. The Halfhand is waiting to meet us at the Fist. We leave in two days."

"Then I suppose I must recover in two days," he said, and Jaime saw him flex his hand and wince. There was no way he would be in any shape to range beyond the wall in two days.

"Stark, don't be a fool --" he started.

And Stark demonstrated his foolishness by fainting. Jaime scrambled to keep them both out of the dirt, Mormont grabbing Stark by the shoulder and heaving him up.

"Get him to Maester Aemon," Mormont said, when Snow rushed over to help. 

Awkwardly and silently, Jaime let Jon Snow lead him to the chamber of the ancient, blind Maester. 

"Is that Benjen Stark once again unconscious in my chamber?" the Maester asked in a gently mocking voice.

"'m conscious," he protested, trying to sit up.

Jaime pushed him down. "Don't be a fool, rest."

"Where's the wound, Ser Jaime?" 

He didn't ask how the old Maester knew him. "Above his left elbow."

Jon Snow cut away the sleeve and the dressing, showing angry red. It wasn't yet as infected as it could have been, but the beginnings of an infection paired with a lack of food, water and rest could be deadly to even the strongest of men.

Jaime excused himself when it was clear Snow had it handled. The fat, timid boy he'd seen early scooted past him awkwardly.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Uh." The boy turned a deep red at being addressed. "S-samwell Tarly, Ser."

"Randyll Tarly's son?"

He turned his eyes down. "Yes."

"That's an unfortunate lot in life," Jaime said with a conciliatory pat to the lad's shoulder as he left. Randyll Tarly was one of the worst men he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, a lifetime ago when he'd bent the knee to Robert after Stannis Baratheon defeated him. 

The big eared boy, it turned out, was a steward named Pyp. He showed him to sleeping quarters and entrusted him with a bundle of black; his new clothes. No more of the white he had so soiled. He was only worthy of black. It was the gods' version of a jest, and Jaime didn't find it funny.

-

The rookery was attended to by the Tarly lad. Jaime found a quiet place in the room to write his letter to Cersei. Detailing his safe return and the plan. They could leave this wretched country, leave behind their ridiculous family and be together in Essos. Anything less would be death for both of them and their children. They could not stay in Westeros if they wanted to be together.

"What were you writing, Ser Jaime?" the Maester asked.

He hadn't even heard him come in.

"My brother Tyrion requested a report that I had arrived in tact." 

"Ah, I see. My family used to write me up here, too. I am Maester Aemon," he said. "They no longer write, but it might have something to do with your family wiping them all out," he added with the airy tone of someone describing the weather.

"Aemon Targaryen, I take it?" he said with a faint groan. 

"Of course. I am only a Maester, now. And you are only a brother of the watch. What happened all those years ago is no longer who we are. Either of us. Aerys was wicked, I won't deny it. No one should. Alas, it matters not." 

It mattered, he thought. No one in this godsforsaken castle could look at him without hissing the words under their breath. _ Kingslayer. Oathbreaker. Man without honor.  _

"So they always say," he settled on, watching his raven disappear into the grey sky and turning to leave the rookery, feeling the blind gaze of the Maester on his back as he did.


	9. Chapter 9

True to Jaime's suspicion, Stark wasn't in ranging condition by the time Mormont decided to leave. Rather than delay, Mormont declared he would lead the ranging himself, and Benjen would man the wall. He didn't like it, judging by his face, but his arm wrapped in a sling told the story of someone who wouldn't be much use against wildling kings or grumpkins for a few more days yet. 

Jaime overheard Mormont telling Stark what had gone on at the wall since his disappearance. An old ranger had been executed by Lord Stark, deserting and claiming to have seen the White Walkers. His ranging party had yet to be found. A few stray wildlings through the wall, reports of cold winds rising to the north, beyond where any man about his senses would ever stray. 

"I sent Alliser Thorne to King's Landing to show your lordly brother the hand Snow cut off a dead man who rose to try and kill me," Mormont said. "I thought it would be the best for Thorne to be away from the lad for a bit. They uh…" 

"Weren't getting along, were they?" 

"Not even a bit. He should be back within the fortnight, and my hope was that Lord Stark sees the dead men as a threat and agrees to help us." 

"Ned will," Benjen said. "If he isn't too busy fighting off Lannister," he added.

Eyes were on Jaime, again, who continued eating a poorly boiled stew, thinking vaguely that Hot Pie was a better cook, even though he was young enough to be Hob's grandson. It was warming, though. He was not going to cringe for a bunch of hollow, bearded fools. 

All of the men of the castle saw them off the next morning, nearly all the fighting men, led by the Lord Commander. Jon Snow and his friends sat near the front of the column with Mormont, but the bastard boy turned to his uncle to wave a short goodbye. 

"I'll see you when you return," he told his nephew in a fond tone. "Don't cause any trouble." 

Mormont snorted derisively. 

Jaime had yet to swear his oath, so he wasn't going either, and he was grateful for it. Castle Black was shortly emptied of men, leaving Stark to rule over untrained stewards and feeble old men. Some of Yoren's new recruits were hardier but still deemed too green to go. The castle felt abandoned, as if winter had come for them. 

Jaime didn't care. That morning, a Ranger called Rast had grumbled some menace at him, as if trying to instigate a fight. Before Jaime could even retort, a great white direwolf growled its disapproval, and Rast was silenced.

Down the bench, the Tarly boy shot him a look. "That's Jon's wolf. He doesn't much like Rast," he said in a low voice.

"Then he's a smart beast," he said, wondering why this wretched place didn't recruit more men of that level of intellect. He didn't imagine Rast serving with much honor. Not that it mattered.

They were gone, now, and Jaime was given a wide berth by most of those who remained. All he had to do was wait. Cersei would get his raven, right? Why would she want to stay in this country, without him beside her? They could probably convince Tyrion to send the children, too. He hadn't heard word of Tommen or Myrcella since he'd left the city. 

A week later, he said the words in the paltry Sept of Castle Black. 

Benjen watched him, a conflicting look of amusement and relief in his dark eyes as Jaime knelt. He remembered swearing vows all lifetime ago. It hadn't taken any time to break them. How long would it take to break these? 

Hopefully not much longer.

They returned from the Sept in a small crowd, and Maester Aemon waited at the top of the stairs, his mole eyed attendant standing with him, a scroll clutched in either hand.

"Maester, what news?" Stark asked.

"King Robert is dead. The city is besieged by Lannister troops supporting the claim of the ousted Prince Joffrey. Lord Stannis and Queen Margaery share the Regency until the heir is born." His tone was airy. Jaime supposed a Targaryen would have a different reaction to the horrors of war, after all. 

Benjen looked dismayed. "It wasn't a fortnight ago that Robb was telling me the new queen was pregnant, how could this be?"

"The life of a king is no more or less fragile than any other man. Your friend can tell you as much," Aemon said, and Benjen didn't tell the old man that they weren't friends. Jaime didn't know what to make of that. "In news that's graver or happier depending on your perspective, Jeor and his men have arrived at Craster's." 

Benjen made a noise of affirmation, distracted by the first bit of news.

"Your nephew seems to not be ingratiating himself with Craster." 

"That makes sense."

Jaime shook off the vaguest memory, of a man in the night, saying it would be done. Robert Baratheon was a dead man since he sat that throne, it had nothing to do with him. "Who is Craster?" he asked, pretending to care.

"An old fucker who lives beyond the wall. He lets the watch stay on his farmstead when we range north, in exchange for supplies. His father was a deserter and his mother a wildling. Now he stays on that farm and marries his daughters." 

Jaime paused. "What does he do with his sons?" he asked.

Benjen broke his gaze away, dark eyes finding the courtyard below them. "Best not to think too hard on it, Lannister." He walked away with the Maester, leaving Jaime to try and contemplate that. 

When he took to bed that night, he found himself assailed by the news of Robert's death. It was a coincidence, right? He had made a jest to a mad man and then two months later a king had died. That wasn't his doing, that was simply what kings did. Besides, if anyone deserved to die, in that shithole city, it was the man who had so disgraced the throne, and his sister, and his father, and the entire country.

And yet, he couldn't sleep. 

He got up, making a vague path towards where he thought the First Ranger slept. Knocking quickly and quietly, he looked about, hoping no one saw him.

Benjen's hair was mussed from sleep as he opened the door. "Lannister?"

"I need to ask you something," he said, slipping inside and leaning against the closed door. 

Seeing Benjen out of his leather armor and black cloak was on the forefront of his mind. It shouldn't have been, but he found it strange, the faintest hint of dark chest hair, the bandages over the healing wounds, too many details he was now memorizing, as if he could use them later.

"Don't you get cold sleeping like that?" he asked, appraising the other man's smallclothes. 

"You're in my room to talk about what I sleep in?" he asked, pushing his hair away from his face and stepping back.

Jaime leaned against the doorway, hands behind his back, remembering the strange tension from the journey and not wanting to pull that thread again. No touching...no thinking about touching…  _ Gods, just ask the question, Jaime. _

"The raven from King's Landing," he said thoughtfully. "Did it say anything about any other deaths?"

"I preferred when you were in my room to talk about my smallclothes," he said, droll. He crossed the room, rummaging through a stack of parchment. "A kingsguard, Trant, and Lord Petyr Baelish. They named it an accident. The king was hunting and drowned and the others as well."

Laughter rose up in his throat like bile, hysterical and thin. 

"What?"

"Do you remember the man in the cage who disappeared after Armory Lorch confronted the traveling party?" he asked.

"The one that didn't come after you later, I assume?" 

He nodded. "He came to Jeyne Poole in the middle of the night after that and told her he needed three names, to repay her saving him."

"Why would the little Poole girl want to kill Robert?"

"She didn't. I did." He grimaced as Benjen gaped. "I didn't take him seriously. I thought he was mad. But that raven held the three names we gave him that night, all dead. I made the comment as a jest and..."

"Well, you've kingslayed twice now," he said, though he was chuckling. "You had no way of knowing that man was speaking true. I wouldn't put the blame on you.  _ Or _ Jeyne."

But Jaime  _ did _ blame himself. Carelessness had put his life on this path and he was so  _ tired  _ of it. He spoke without care for the consequences and now he was stuck on this frozen pile of shit. Did it ever end? Did he ever stop ruining his own life? Was there some path he could have taken that would have led him to happiness and not ruin? 

"Jaime?"

"Sorry for waking you, First Ranger Stark," he said stiffly, his racing thoughts stopping cold at the sound of his name. He hadn't heard it spoken in so long, standing by itself with no titles or family names or dripping implication.

He fled back to his sleeping quarters and tried not to think of how it sounded.


	10. Chapter 10

"Your nephew is apparently giving Lord Commander Mormont more stress than even you did at that age," Aemon said conversationally the next time a raven came from Craster's Keep.

Benjen looked conspiratorially over to Jaime. "I was foolish in my youth. It runs in the family." 

Jaime couldn't picture any Stark behaving what he would deem as 'foolish', truthfully. "Just in your youth?" he replied, raising an eyebrow. Ever since his brief moment of weakness three days past, Stark had been much more conversational and laid back with Jaime. It was a far cry from the guarded, stoic ranger he'd met so many months ago. The change had been gradual, but he felt like it was more noticeable now. He wasn't sure he'd call them friends, but there was a silent understanding there. 

Aemon nodded. "He saw Craster sacrifice a son, it upset the lad. Not yet accustomed to the unfortunate necessities of our duty." 

"Sacrifice it to what, Maester?"

"Perhaps just the cold," the old man said softly. "The white walkers are only stories, after all. Craster is a superstitious man."

Jaime turned back to his ale, catching the disapproving glance Stark gave Aemon. "You act as though knowing the Watch makes deals with men who kill babies offends me, Stark." It did, to speak true. But chivalry was for the summer. He understood survival as well as he did honour.

Aemon excused himself, and they were the last two in the mess, the other men of the watch off doing whatever it was they did in the afternoon.

"It's your turn on top of the wall for the night," Benjen said. 

"Who's my watch partner?" he asked. He had been relegated to tasks around the castle since he'd said the words, so he hadn't actually been at the top of the wall yet. He was almost excited for the view.

"Me."

"Which one of us drew the short straw?" he jested.

"Me, obviously."

That night he stood atop the wall, harshly cold wind blowing around his cloak, as he stood near the torch that provided both light and a paltry amount of warmth. He could see the entire north, a blanket of white, with black dots of trees and jagged, fog-wreathed mountains off in the distance. 

"You're late," he said when he heard the approaching footfall.

"I have very important things to take care of while the Lord Commander is gone," he said. 

This was a lowly job for the commander of the wall, he reflected. "Then why are you up here?"

"I didn't trust anyone else to not push you off the wall." Jaime didn't think that was the whole truth of it, but it wasn't going to complain. Instead, he laughed, and so did Benjen. They stood shoulder to shoulder, stealing whatever warmth they could from the proximity, letting anything more remain unspoken. 

"One horn for Rangers returning, two for wildlings, and three for White Walkers," Benjen told him idly, halfway through the night, clearly not expecting to hear any horns that night. 

The night passed silently, save the faintest howling of wolves carried on the wind. It was too cold to talk too much, so they traded the occasional barb and otherwise stayed quiet. When they climbed down, near midnight, the spirits between them were light.

"I might have some ale hidden in my quarters," Benjen said. "Care to warm up before you turn in?" 

Impulse took over. He thought back to the lingering moment in Winterfell. He'd thought about it a lot, but Benjen hadn't made any offer like it since. He had never really figured out if he'd wanted to accept it or not, until that moment. 

"Sure." 

He grinned, and just as they descended the steps, the horn blasted.

One blast, for Rangers returning. 

They weren't returning from the northern side, they were coming in from the south. Instead of going to Stark's quarters, they headed out to the gate, where they met a tired looking ranger, with blond hair and a pinched, angry look.

"Ser Alliser," Benjen said. If he was aggrieved, it wasn't apparent. "Welcome back. How did you find the capitol?"

"Chaotic. You brother sends much news. I hope you have time to hear it tonight," he said. "He sends his regards, new recruits and his regret that his bannermen cannot yet make it to support us."

Benjen nodded. "Come, we'll talk." He paused and looked to Jaime. "Maybe tomorrow," he said, and Jaime took his meaning.

"Rest well, then, Ranger Stark. Brother Thorne."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plz let it be known that jaime gets irrationally horny when people call him by his name

For several days, though it felt longer, he was consumed by finding a way to get Benjen Stark alone. It was a strange thought, and one that filled him with a dread that he couldn't name, even as he fumbled through his attempts to make it happen. Their watches didn't coincide, and every time he found the time to go to Stark's room, the bastard was on his way elsewhere. 

To his continued dismay, Alliser Thorne kept cropping up at the worst times. He seemed to resent that Benjen had control of the wall, and expressed it by following him about, suggesting changes and enforcements that made no sense with nothing but green recruits. 

More troubling still were the new recruits themselves. They were half a dozen strong, gold cloaks from King's Landing who had made the mistake of throwing their lot in with Cersei and Joffrey. They seemed to want to befriend Jaime, or hate him, depending on which breath they had just taken. He ignored them all. Serving at the wall meant no more alliances, right? It was almost refreshing, the lack of loyalty he had to show to his sister's useless hired muscle. 

Janos Slynt particularly thought himself better than the men of the watch, but he was hardly more than a butcher who had been given a sword instead of a cleaver, and no smarter than the cleaver still.

As the Master at Arms, it gave Thorne no greater pleasure than to run drills with the recruits. Most of them were well trained, but he had clearly never commanded men before he came to the Watch and was only given the title because of his status as a knight, as though whoever had been in charge hadn't known any fool can become a knight. He barked commands and offered nothing but strings of abuse, and recruits were left with no real idea what it was they needed to change.

Luckily, he had the good sense to not allow Jaime to spar with any of the other recruits.

Unluckily, perhaps, for his mounting frustration, that meant the only person worthy of sparring with Jaime was deemed to be Stark. There was always an audience. People were very interested in seeing the Kingslayer fight, and nearly as interested in seeing the First Ranger. 

They fought each other to near standstills every time. Jaime knew he was better, better than most everyone, but Benjen was still more capable than anyone else at the wall, and the only match he had.

It neared a week since the watch atop the wall, and on this day it seemed like Jaime had the upper hand in the spar. They only had one way to get out their frustrations, and even sparring with dulled swords, they were perhaps rougher than they needed to be. There would be bruises, but thinking of that was better than thinking of whatever else had plagued him.

Benjen blocked a hit at his ribs and brought the sword up, but stumbled when he took a step back. Taking to his knee, panting, he looked up just as Jaime leveled the blunt blade at the curve of his jaw.

It took him a moment to catch his breath.

"Finally have me where you want me, eh, Jaime?" he said, low enough that no one else heard it, as he raised his hands up to yield.

Jaime felt his eyes slide out of focus as the image of Stark on his knees in front of him seared itself into his mind. The sword hit the ground as his pulse quickened. Sharply inhaling, he turned and tried not to rush out of sight. He found the coldest, cleanest water he could, splashing it across his face and trying to shock himself back to his senses. 

Had it truly become so difficult to be around him? Stark was the only brother of the watch who he might have counted among his friends -- was it really worth risking all that? What if he had misinterpreted all of the signs and was merely wishing that Benjen had been inviting him into his bed for weeks?

He wasn't sure anyone had ever expressed that sort of interest in him before, at least not someone who hadn't simply wanted something more material from him. Maybe he didn't know what to make of it.

"You're thinking too much, Lannister," he told his reflection in the bucket of water. With Cersei it had been as natural as breathing, but it was unnatural all the same, just as this was. 

Night fell and, unable to sleep, he found himself in front of Benjen's door. He raised a fist to knock and hesitated.

No, he had to get this over with so he could think straight again.

He knocked.

Benjen answered.

He slipped inside and latched the door behind them. 

"It was just a jest, earlier," Stark said, uncharacteristic doubt in his dark eyes. None of that self-assured swagger of the First Ranger. 

"I'd rather it not be, you had the right of it," he said, fighting every word. When had he become so cautious? The Jaime he had been before would have --

He spared his tortured thoughts by grabbing Stark and kissing him. Stark pushed him back against the locked door, reaching up and gripping him by the hair.

They broke apart, breathing heavy and grinning. 

"I've…" he stuttered, knowing he would humiliate himself at some point this evening, so it may as well be early in the proceedings. "I've never been with anyone but Cersei," he said, cringing.

Benjen paused where he had been unlacing Jaime's jerkin. "We don't have to…"

"I want to. Just figured I'd explain your disappointment to you before it happened."

They both found it in them to laugh.

"Ale will make this easier," he said, moving to pull a small wooden box out from underneath his bed. The small cask was mostly full, but they emptied it in short order, in between hazy kisses and heavy breathing. It did make it easier.

\--

Several of the best nights of Jaime's life later, they were in bed when someone decided to knock on Benjen's door. Jaime startled, hitting the floor and groaning.

"Just stay there, then," he said, stepping over him as he readjusted his clothes and opened the door. 

Everything they'd been able to do in the days since they had finally gotten it over with had been...quick. Not out of any personal failing on Jaime's part, thank you, but because the amount of time they actually had privacy was lacking. They stole a few moments here and there, trying to be beneath the notice of the rest of the Watch, none of whom Jaime believed would care, except probably Alliser Thorne and Janos Slynt, who had become fast friends in their shared unpleasantness and disdain for everyone around them.

Somehow, it was so much less pleasant coming off of them. Jaime considered himself disdainful of most people, and yet he found them repulsive to be around. 

"Maester Aemon, you're up late." 

"Ah, yes, a side-effect of either age or blindness, I'm not entirely sure which. I don't sleep like I used to. I hope I wasn't interrupting your rest," he said, sounding amused, like he knew he very much hadn't interrupted anything restful.

"Not at all, Maester." 

"A raven came earlier, reporting that Mormont's men have reached the Fist. He's sent your nephew ranging with the Halfhand to find Mance Rayder's camp."

"Really? He's so young," he said, concern ebbing into his voice. "I suppose there's no better time to learn." 

"Indeed. The scroll described all of the wildling settlements they've passed through as abandoned, as well, but no more detail than that." 

"He really is amassing an army." A sigh. "Nothing to do for it but wait, I suppose. Goodnight, Maester." 

"Goodnight, Benjen," he said.

The door snapped closed and locked once again, and Jaime sat up from where he was laying on the floor. He frowned at the thoughtful look on Benjen's face. They weren't going to pick up where they left off, not with him in a mood like that. 

"I can go, if you need --" 

"Stay a bit longer, it's fine," he said, falling back into bed. "He's not a child, I shouldn't worry so much." 

"And this wildling army?" 

"I can only hope that Ned's able to muster his bannermen in time, I guess." The thought clearly aggrieved him. Jaime didn't say anything, knowing that Stark's delay was his fault in the first place.

They didn't resume where they had left off, but they talked well into the night, about battles and wildlings and things that might help take his mind off of the worry. 


	12. Chapter 12

On top of the wall, there were no Maesters or Masters of Arms to interrupt them, though it was far too cold to do much. It didn't really stop them from acting like fools -- the adrenaline of being atop the wall added to it, at least for Jaime. The thought of falling to his death because he was too busy shoving his hands anywhere he could find available skin underneath all the fur and leather, it was too funny to not consider. 

"This would be the way to go, if Mance Rayder attacked right now," Benjen said with a chuckle. 

"How likely is that?" 

"I don't know. I knew Mance, years ago, but only briefly. I don't know what he means to do." The mood had been punctured, even though they were still close together. "With the strange things that have been happening north of the wall, I can't even say for sure if we're on opposite sides." 

Jaime didn't know what to make of that, so he stayed quiet. 

"Some of our brothers would call them monsters, but I don't think they're much more than men."

"Most monsters aren't much more than that," he pointed out. 

"I suppose you know better than most," Benjen said, though as soon as it came out his face fell, as if he'd said something terrible.

"Yes, well, all monsters know one another," he said, trying to hide his hurt with levity.

"I didn't mean you," he said, hasty. "I was thinking of Aerys."

It always came back to Aerys. "Ah." He still stepped back a few inches. "That's the part most people enjoy forgetting. They never tell you what to do when you swear your vows to protect a monster. They don't tell you that it makes a monster of you, too."

"You're not --"

"I think our watch is over for the night," he said, without anger. He stepped away and returned to the lift. Benjen followed a chastened distance away, his posture rounded. They didn't speak on the way down.

_ Gods, truly I ruin everything,  _ he said to himself, unable to look over. 

Benjen grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his chambers, before he could protest. "Self-pity is not becoming of a man of the Watch," he said, shutting the door and planting his hands on either side of Jaime's head, pinning him in place. 

"Oh, fuck off with that horseshit." 

"Whatever horror you think you know, know that we all have them. We have secrets, and reasons for being here. You're not unique. And you're not a  _ monster _ ." 

Jaime, trying to be polite enough to not be distracted by the mouth that he was so intimately familiar with now, met his gaze. "Aerys -- he loved wildfire. He...had caches of it placed throughout the city. He meant to burn the city down and let Robert rule the ashes."

Benjen considered him solemnly. "You never told anyone. Ned found you -- but you didn't tell him."

"He wouldn't have listened."

Benjen actually laughed, to Jaime's horror. "That sounds like Ned," he said with a rueful twist of his lips. "You didn't need to tell me that."

"It just means you owe me your secrets, too," he said, grinning, ignoring the surge of fear and shame that had swelled in him.

"You're the secret." He stepped back, giving Jaime the option for escape. Instead he pulled him forward again, closing the distance with a kiss. One last one for the night.

The knock came several kisses, and a few severely more lewd things later.

"First Ranger, a rider in the night."

Benjen, aggrieved, opened the door the slightest bit, trying to hide Jaime, or his own flushed face, from the brother unfortunate enough to interrupt them 

"Winterfell is under siege, Lord Stark."

"Lannisters? This far north?"

"They do not fly the lion banners. It's unclear who they are. There came more news; Walder Frey has struck a deal with Lord Tywin. He has closed the Twins to the northmen. Your brother and good sister are trapped south."

Benjen wanted to ride south for Winterfell the moment he heard the news, but he stayed stewing in his fear without a word to anyone about it. Jaime knew that look, he'd worn that look so often. That feeling of caged desperation.

Walder Frey had gotten quite the deal out of it. A granddaughter wed to Joffrey, and one to Joff's cousin Lancel, who was likely to inherit the Rock, if Tywin got his way and was able to disinherit Tyrion.

Jaime missed Tyrion fiercely. He hoped wherever he'd found himself in this paltry war, it was safe, at least. He could only imagine that Benjen felt a similar yearning for his own brother.

He could offer no comfort to him. If it were his family, he would have abandoned the wall already. Benjen had more honour than that, so he suffered silently.

His own family didn't seem to care a whit for him now. If they won this war, would they come for him then? 

Did he even  _ want  _ to go back to Cersei? Everytime he thought of her, he ached, but not with longing. He remembered how coolly she lied, how easily she rejected an imagined life with him on the miniscule chance she could remain Queen. And she had tried to get him back, but in a way that promised him death more than it had rescue.

Ravens had been coming from north of the wall for a few days, but none of them carried a scroll. 

"Perhaps they got loose," Benjen remarked with a curious frown, a raven perched on his shoulder, much like the talking crow that Jaime had seen Mormont coddling, who hopped around freely with his master gone.

This one didn't talk, simply tilted his head at Benjen and took a piece of his hair in its beak. 

"Stop that."

The raven fluttered back to its cage, where Aemon's attendant, whose name always escaped Jaime, was feeding them and fluffing their straw. 

"Winterfell is built to withstand sieges," he said as they descended to the mess, ready for whatever stew Hobb had concocted for the night. 

"To speak true, I'm more concerned about Jon than I am Robb," he said bluntly. "Lady Maege or the Greatjon will smash that siege as soon as they can muster their numbers. Mormont's ranging has been out there for months and we haven't gotten word since they reached the Fist, and that was weeks ago."

Jaime wished he shared Stark's confidence. Jeyne Poole and Hot Pie and the rest of the children were trapped in Winterfell, besieged by an unknown enemy. Could it be Balon Greyjoy? It was too far inland, wasn't it? Or maybe it truly was a Lannister force flying no banners. 

"So what can we do?" 

"I suppose nothing," he said.

They ate in silence, amongst the other grim stewards and brothers, a sea of black, quietly sipping ale and thinking on the fate of their brothers. A wildling army pressing in from the north, and to the south, an enemy without a face. 

He left to the courtyard to observe Alliser Thorne's drills. Janos Slynt walked beside him, and he rankled, but kept his eyes on the younger men fumbling with swords.

"Brother Jaime. I have some concerns," he said in a pompous tone. 

"Why would you bring those concerns to me? First Ranger Stark has command of the wall."

"My concerns are regarding him," he said, lowering his voice. 

Jaime stiffed, gripping the wooden railing as he tried to keep his eyes down on the courtyard. What concerns could Slynt possibly have developed in the month he'd been at Castle Black? He barely spoke to Benjen. "Oh?" he said, in a falsely measured tone. 

"Some of the men of the watch have expressed the concern that perhaps he is not fulfilling his duty. That he's...distracted." He could feel dark, beady eyes on him. He didn't turn. 'Some men' meant Alliser Thorne. "That perhaps this conflict his family is involved in has drawn his gaze away from the Wall."

"So?"

"Command of the wall should belong to someone --" Allister Thorne, he meant. "That isn't distracted." 

"Slynt, let me give you some advice." He finally rounded on the man, putting a hand on his shoulder. "This is not King's Landing," he drawled. "All of that politicking and backstabbing that goes on there? It doesn't happen here. They will take your head for a traitor or deserter. They won't forgive you or ask for pledges of fealty or send you off to inconvenience someone else. If the men of the Watch get wind of you sniffing around like the truffle pig you are, they'll kill you." 

He allowed the threat to sink in to his daft pig head.

"Speak no more of mutiny against Ranger Stark. I will not support it, and Thorne is mad if he thinks anyone should. The man is no leader." 

He turned to walk away and was met by Aemon's attendant. "A raven for you, Ser Jaime." 

He took the scroll and opened it as he walked down the stairs. It was Tyrion's handwriting, and his heart leapt. He missed his little brother something fierce. 

_ Jaime,  _

_ Cersei has wed Roose Bolton. If I'm being blunt, I fear his monstrous son will be the end of our family. Father sent him to the front lines of the siege to keep him from Joffrey and Cersei. How long will that last, do you think?  _

_ Tommen and Myrcella are at least safe. For fear this letter will find its way into Cersei's hands, I cannot tell you where. Stark has sent many men loyal to her to the Wall, yourself included.  _

_ No offence meant.  _

_ I love you, brother, but I hope to remind you to not sacrifice your neck for our family any longer. I want to see you alive at the end of this war. _

_ Best regards, _

_ Tyrion. _

He froze at the bottom of the stairs, reading over the letter as many times as he could, until the letters stopped making sense, the way they used to when he was a young boy. Before he recollected his thoughts, his feet carried him to where Benjen was assisting the builders with some maintenance of a doorway. 

"I know who's besieging Winterfell," he said, brandishing the letter. 

"What?"

"The Boltons have betrayed your brother."

He snatched the scroll from Jaime's hand and read it. "Gods. Do you think word of that has reached Ned yet?" 

His answer was cut off by a hornblast. And then a second, but shorter, more awkward blast.

"Was that supposed to be two?" Benjen asked. Two meant wildlings.

"One and a half?"

They opened the gate with swords drawn, and there was in fact a wildling woman standing at the gate, but she was flanked by four fully grown direwolves and the Stark children.


	13. Chapter 13

The Starks looked harried and tired when they were sat down in the mess, plied with stew and bombarded with questions. 

"Let them breathe, Stark," the wildling woman, Osha, said hotly. Rickon and Bran pressed into her sides protectively. Hot Pie, Lommy, and Gendry had accompanied the Starks, and Jeyne Poole had thrown herself into Jaime's arms the moment she was allowed through the gates, forcing him to sit with the family as she refused to let go of his arm. Two crannogmen sat a table over, quiet and strange.

"Robb and Theon sent us, through the crypts," Sansa said, as the assumed leader of the siblings, her arm around Arya. "Osha and Meera and Gendry kept us safe on the road. With the Twins closed to Mother and Father, our Uncle Edmure cannot bring his forces, and many of Father's bannermen are trapped inside Winterfell with Robb, or South with Mother and Father. Aunt Lysa ignored Robb's letter, we think. She's angry with Mother." 

It was the perfect time to strike. Jaime had to give credit to Bolton's strategy. Go south with Stark, return north and shut the entrance behind you. He would bet the Bolton's had volunteered to man Moat Cailin for Ned, too. It didn't concern them, however concerning it was for the family of the man sitting across from him. 

The Watch took no part, he remembered that much. 

Even as much as he cared for Benjen, he wouldn't fight against his family for that. He was happy to be here, where he could be neutral. It had given him a clarity and simplicity of thought that he hadn't had since Aerys had died.

"You can stay here until the siege is lifted. The Wall has never been a stranger to refugees in the distant past." That was probably a stretch on the rules to allow his nieces and nephews onto the wall, but Jaime would hardly be the one to complain. That honour would go to the flashing eyes of Alliser Thorne, looming in the corner. 

Two nights later, Jaime laid next to Benjen, catching his breath. He had been worried that with the Stark brats running around, there would be even less time for nighttime activities. It wasn't on some kind of schedule. It was mostly...casual. They met up every so often and they fucked and maybe they talked about the Wall, but beyond the night he had confessed about Aerys, they avoided going deeper than that.

It was a perfect arrangement. Got what they needed and walked away. 

Tonight things were lingering, though it was not acknowledged. 

"They'll be fine," he said, doubtful.

Jaime tangled a hand in his hair, rolling onto his side to look him in the eye. "Did you see the spearwife they walked in with? If any brothers thought to look at those children wrong, their eyes would be decorating her sleeping chamber," he said, laughing. 

"You're confident."

"Notoriously," he said, leaning in for another kiss. 

Someone knocked on the door, but didn't wait for an answer before they pushed it open. Jaime jumped away as the curious face of Bran Stark peered through the crack. "Uncle Ben --" He blanched and slammed the door with a squeaked 'I'm sorry!'.

Benjen fell off the bed, scrambling for his trousers and once he was dressed, he opened the door and dragged Bran inside, kneeling down to eye level. "Do you need something?" he asked.

"Uh, someone just showed up at the Castle, and the Maester told me to come find you," he stammered, his eyes flitting between Jaime and Benjen wildly. "I know I'm not supposed to be up so late but Maester Aemon said I could sit with him because Jojen and I couldn't sleep…" he started to ramble.

"Don't worry," Benjen said, patting him on the head. "You're not in trouble, but you have to keep this a secret, all right?" 

Bran nodded. "Are you --" 

"You're a little too young for this," he said. "I'm sure your mother means to explain it to you soon." 

"I'm twelve!" he protested, puffing out his chest. 

"Let's go see who's visiting us now," Benjen said, gently leading Bran out of the room.

Gods, what a fucking night. Everything was going to get ruined by the big mouth of a twelve year old boy? Things had been going so well…

He found his pants and dressed quickly, making a stealthy escape out of Benjen's room and catching up with them in the Maester's quarters, where Samwell Tarly and a wildling woman clutching a crying babe greeted them.

"This is Gilly," Sam said without preamble. "She was...one of Craster's wives...she and her son escaped with me," he stammered. "I...there was…" Tears were escaping Tarly's eyes. "The ranging party was attacked by the army of the dead, Ranger Benjen." He paused and took a shuddering breath. "The survivors...we made it to Craster's keep...but there was a mutiny. Lord Commander… Commander Mormont was…" He sobbed, hiding his face in his gloves. 

Benjen straightened up, furrowing his eyebrows. "Oh Gods."

Jeor Mormont had been killed, by his own men. He'd survived wildlings and worse only to be felled by some mutinous cowards. 

"We escaped and came here. The other survivors...I lost them in the chaos… I don't know if they'll…" The babe wailed and the girl reached out for Sam's shaking shoulder. 

"Tarly," Benjen said, taking the boys' wrists and moving his hands from his face. "Where is  _ Jon _ ?"

Sam shook his head, sobbed again, and Benjen looked from him to Jaime with an expression of dawning horror. "He never came back from his mission with the Halfhand, my lord. We waited as long as we could...but...the dead came for us."

"You believe the boy?" It was a few nights later. Jaime had given him the time and space to approach him at his convenience, though he hadn't expected it so soon. Mormont was like a father to his men, and that included the grizzled Ranger in bed next to him. Losing someone like that was always hard. It was why Jaime had kept everyone had a distance for so long, except his family. 

"About what?"

"The Dead."

"I suppose I must. Aemon says he's of sound mind," Benjen said. "This isn't…" he hesitated. "I don't want to talk about it," he said.

"Because it sounds mad?"

Benjen looked incensed. "You don't believe him?" 

" _ White Walkers _ ?"

"A dead man attacked the Lord Commander in his solar, I believe that. So it's not...unrealistic," he sighed. "Skeptical?"

"Of course. It could have just been...madness. They were up there for months and months, Benjen." A trickle of other survivors had found the wall since his return, and they had told the same tale, a wild look in their eyes. 

"He's an intelligent lad, Jaime. I don't think he went mad."

Samwell had told a tale of killing a White Walker with an ancient Dragonglass dagger, and the wildling girl, Gilly, had agreed. She said it had come for the baby, one of Craster's sacrifices snatched from them. But what did ancient frozen monsters want with some newborn babe? 

Jaime wasn't sure what to believe, but he was sure that he needed to stop talking about it before Benjen kicked him out of bed. He forewent saying more for kissing Benjen's neck, keeping his mouth occupied so he didn't ruin anything else. 

However, his partner in this particular crime was clearly distracted. "Do you think he's dead?"

"Who?"

"Jon."

"I…" he hesitated. "Perhaps not." 

"Gods. My nephew's dead, my other nephew is under siege. My brother is trapped south where our father died…" Benjen pulled away, sitting up and running his hands through his hair and sighed again. "I can't  _ do  _ anything about it."

"No, you can't," he said bluntly, sitting up. "I should go. I'm not helping this," he said, fumbling for his boots.

"Stay."

It was an order, and Jaime was very good at following orders. They didn't do much more than lie there, but he allowed himself to be a pillow for the evening, Benjen burying his face in his neck. They fell asleep like that, something they'd never done before. He'd always fled before dawn, making excuses about getting caught. 

He woke as the sun rose, wishing he could have stayed there just like that, in that tangle of limbs. But it wasn't the way of things.


	14. Chapter 14

A fortnight after Tarly's arrival, a half-dead Jon Snow was carried through the castle gates by a tired horse. 

Pyp and Samwell dragged him out of the mud, taking him to the Maester. Benjen sat with him for hours as he feverishly muttered and slipped in and out of consciousness. Jaime didn't intrude, but it was his duty to make sure his brothers ate, so he did make a visit. Hot Pie had ingratiated himself with Hobb, and together the food in the castle had been improved greatly. 

"He's wearing wildling clothes," Alliser said. "He's a  _ traitor _ . He will bring Mance Rayder down upon us all." 

"Jon's no traitor," Samwell Tarly argued, uncharacteristically brave in defense of his closest friend. "We need to hear his side of the story. We need to let him recover." 

"Tarly's right, Thorne. He's returned to the Watch. For that, we must hear his explanation. He may have information. We are not executing him without a fair trial." 

Thorne stood up abruptly, moving as though he meant to menace Benjen. Jaime couldn't stand it anymore, standing from his own table and striding over. Thorne's actions were disgraceful, to all of them, and reckless. They couldn't lose fighting men over petty squabbles if they were about to be at war. 

"I hope you didn't mean to start a fight with your commanding officer, Thorne," he said, only a few inches from the other man. "I don't know how you lot do it in this backwoods shithole, but in the Kingsguard, a man who bares steel against the Lord Commander forfeits his life." 

It wasn't strictly the way of things anymore, but he did know baring steel against Barristan Selmy would end in someone's swift death, no matter  _ who  _ you were.

"He's not the Lord Commander, not yet." He leaned in further, speaking only to Jaime. "When I'm made Lord Commander, I'll enjoy having you hanged for breaking your oaths, Kingslayer. Don't think being his favorite will last forever." 

Instead of showing his alarm, he reached up, patted Thorne on the cheek, and walked away. "Good luck with that, Thorne," he called over his shoulder. 

Jeyne followed him out. "Ser Jaime!" she said. They hadn't found much time to talk since the children's arrival, but she had still taken up her old habit of following him around when he had free time to allow it. 

"Jeyne?" 

"You know, Bran told me something interesting the other night…" 

He tried not to show his alarm. "What could a twelve year old boy possibly say that's interesting?" he asked, ignoring the creeping smug look on her face. 

"So it's true! You were in Benjen's chambers the other night," she said, lowering her voice. "I knew it."

"That's an odd thing to 'know', Jeyne," he said. "Look, whatever you think you know, it's dangerous to go about talking about it. We take vows here. Breaking them is death," he said, knowing that probably wasn't the way to get through to a fifteen year old girl. "If you tell anyone else…" He paused. "I'll tell everyone you fancy that Greyjoy boy. It'll be my dying words before they hang me as an Oathbreaker."

Jeyne turned bright red. "I don't  _ fancy  _ Theon."

He snorted. "That's what we all say." 

"You're so mean, Ser Jaime," she said, but she was laughing as she said it, and he walked her back to the room she shared with Sansa, Arya, and the other women of Winterfell they had escaped with. 

The brothers of the Watch heard Jon Snow's testimony when he recovered. 

He told a long tale; he and the Halfhand captured by Wildlings. The Halfhand concocting a plan to get them to trust Jon, by his own death. Meeting Mance Rayder, finding the remains of the Watch after the dead's attack, and climbing the Wall. 

"I did dishonour my vows, brothers," he said, as grim and solemn as his father and uncle. "I laid with a wildling girl, I killed the Halfhand, I rode among the Free Folk," he said. "But I returned to you, as the Halfhand wanted me to, as I always meant to." 

He was staring at his uncle with wide, dark eyes. Afraid.

Just a boy. 

Jaime had been that boy before. Confessing to sins that he had committed when he'd been so convinced they were the right thing to do. Over and over.

"He confesses to breaking his vows," Thorne said. 

Aemon scoffed. "If we hanged every brother of the watch who laid with a girl, the wall would be manned by skeletons, Thorne," he said. "That should be the least concerning thing to you." 

"There is little time to deliberate on my crimes. Tormund Giantsbane leads a group south of the wall. They mean to raid villages and draw our gaze south, so that we don't see Mance's forces until they're upon us, and attack from the south gate while he attacks from the wall. Mance means to signal the attack with the biggest fire the north has ever seen."

"This is all a lie," Alliser Thorne declared. "To excuse treason. He killed the Halfhand, laid with a wildling, and told the secrets of the Watch to our sworn enemy. He is lying."

He wasn't lying, though. Jaime could tell. 

"It is not," Aemon said, sharing his confidence. 

"Do you always know when a man is lying, Maester Aemon?" 

"Yes," he said, standing and allowing Samwell Tarly to help him down the stairs. Tarly's face was a little bit smug.

"How did you acquire such an extraordinary gift?" he drawled.

"I grew up in King's Landing," he said, a smile on his face.

Jaime ducked his head, trying to hide his own laughter at the blustering anger of Janos Slynth and Alliser Thorne. 

"We will not execute Jon Snow for these crimes," Benjen declared. "He will return to his position as the Lord Commander's steward, and we will begin our preparations for the King Beyond the Wall's arrival. Write to Eastwatch and Shadowtower. Make sure they're prepared as well." 

As elated that Benjen was to have his nephew back, Jon did seem to want to spend every moment he could with his Uncle. They shared little more than pained looks across rooms as Jon stayed by Benjen's side, disappearing only long enough to spend time with his siblings, and not long enough for either of them to get their trousers off, before he came knocking again.

Sansa and Jeyne had taken to Tarly's wildling girl, playing with her babe and helping her and their wildling protector learn their letters, as the days grew shorter and their time trapped inside the castle grew longer. 

Arya kept sneaking into the younger recruits' drills, her own skinny little sword at her side. Snow dragged her away every time, but Jaime had caught him privately instructing her on how to swing it only an hour later.

Bran had fallen in love with the Maesters' books, and Samwell had gotten him to help transcribe some of the more fragile ones, his crannog friend Jojen Reed assisting as well. They talked about strange dreams and old stories. 

"No sign of Ghost?" he heard Jon asking Samwell in a sad voice. "He couldn't climb the wall, I told him to go find you."

Sam shook his head. 

The presence of the other wolves seemed to only serve to make Snow miss his. 

Nymeria, the wolf that belonged to Arya, pleaded for some table scraps, and when no one was looking, Jaime slipped her a bite, and a scratch behind the ear. She laid her head on his boots and thumped her giant tail against the wooden floor. 

"Thorne suspects something. This, I mean," he said one night, remembering his conversation with the man a few weeks prior, when Jon Snow had arrived on the wall, while they recovered for the evening, trading jokes. 

"Of course he does. He's a suspicious man."

"Why should he?" he asked, where he was lounging against the headboard, watching Benjen pour a drink. The survivors of the village raids had brought them what stores and rations they could, almost as payment for their protection. It meant they suddenly had a little bit more of everything, which was nice. 

"We've been in the watch together for nearly five and twenty years, Jaime. He's aware of my... proclivities, unfortunately. I was a fool in my younger days. Maybe not as quiet about it as I should have been, perhaps too trusting."

"Is that a very polite way of saying you fucked Thorne?" 

Benjen choked on his ale. "No. Never anything like that." 

He laughed. "His loss."

"I mean, there have been others." His tone grew serious, and Jaime's mirth died as quickly as it came.

He wasn't a fool, he realized that he was the strange one in this situation. Most found a man who had only lain with one woman to be quite honourable, until that one woman was your sister, and then the next person after her was a man. How did he keep finding himself in the bed of people he shouldn't? 

Of course there had been others.

"Brothers of the watch," he said. "I assume, since Thorne suspects."

"Brothers, wildlings, visiting lordlings," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter."

"Oh, so by others you mean anyone except the  _ Others," _ he said, curling his lip a little at the thought. No, they weren't attached in any specific way. Even spending half their nights together didn't entitle him to jealousy, and yet he was a jealous man.

"I'm sorry I'm not more like you and my brother, so nobly only laying with one person for my entire life," he shot back, defensive.

"Perhaps if you throw yourself at the wilding king they'll cease their attack," he joked, though unnecessarily heated. He got out of bed and found his boots. "Goodnight, Ranger Stark."

Benjen sighed. "Jaime, come on. This is --"

_ Stupid _ , Jaime finished silently as he left the room. The entire debate had been, but something Benjen had said was troubling him, and he needed to think.

His brother had only lain with one woman? 

_ Then where had Jon come from? _

Reports of wildlings attacking northern villages began coming through to the wall, paltry survivors fleeing to Castle Black for safety. 

Jaime remembered Benjen stating that he didn't think of wildlings as monsters, just as men like they all were. He had seen tactics like this in war before. It wasn't unlike what his father was fond of doing, but something about it still felt monstrous. 

"We should meet them in the field," a bold Ranger said. 

"We don't have the resources," Benjen said, leaning over the map. "We barely have enough men to man the wall. They want us to send brothers out to meet them in the field and cull our numbers before Mance even gets here," he said. 

"They're slaughtering innocents," Pyp said plaintively. 

"Aye, but there are only three men on the wall who stand a  _ chance _ against Tormund Giantsbane, and the wall can spare none of them," he said, pointing from Thorne to Jaime and back to himself. "And that's not even considering that the Magnar of Thenn has joined them." 

"So we sit here and wait for them to slaughter their way across the country to us?" 

"With Lord Stark under siege and his bannermen occupied, we have no other choice. We have written our missives to the lords of Westeros. Do not look to them for aid, not with this farce of a war on." 

A horn blasted. One long, solemn sound. 

"Rangers returning?" Jon asked. 

Grenn and sour-voiced Dolorous Edd waited at the northern gate of the wall. 

"We would've been back sooner, but we were held up by the mutineers at Craster's," Grenn said, chains dangling on his wrist. 

"Welcome back, all the same."


	15. Chapter 15

How Jaime had gotten roped into the raid, he didn't know. 

Jon had made the point, and it was a keen one: if Mance got to the mutineers first, he could find out more about the watch.

Specifically, he'd find out that Jon had lied to him about their numbers in order to discourage his attack. He feared Mance questioning them and finding out how many men they'd lost on the expedition beyond the wall, and how few remained at the castle. 

They had been divided on whether to stay or go. Benjen thought it barely mattered if they found out they were weak. Alliser Thorne and Janos Slynt pushed so fiercely for the expedition it was obvious they hoped Jon would die in the attempt.

Jaime had made the mistake of agreeing with Snow. They needed to pull those weeds, root and stem. It was only practical. Them dying to the wildlings would expose them to Rayder sooner than later. However long they could delay, they should. 

Jon looked at him with a grateful, amazed expression. He knew the plan was foolish, and here Jaime was, agreeing with him. 

Benjen regarded him coolly as he declared  _ they  _ would go. A few fighting men could be spared, and that would be it. He would remain at the wall, in case the wildings came calling sooner than expected. 

"It might be best for the Commander to go," Janos Slynt said uneasily. It wasn't enough that Thorne wanted Snow dead, they thought to get rid of Benjen too?

"My place is Castle Black," he repeated with some finality, regarding Slynt suspiciously.

As they packed their horses and provisions for the short journey out, he turned to Benjen. "Slynt -- do you think he's up to something?"

"I don't think he's smart enough to be up to something," Benjen said dismissively. He shoved a bedroll into Jaime's arms, and grinned sardonically. "Enjoy your first trip beyond the wall, Ranger Lannister," he said.

"Is he mad at you?" Jon asked, as the gate shut behind them. "I thought you were...friends." 

Snow was apparently a keener observer than he'd realized. "That's ridiculous." Sure, they'd barely spoken in a few days, and  _ maybe  _ Jaime had pushed for this raid because he suspected he knew some great secret about Jon, and putting Jon in danger would be the best way to figure it out, but that didn't mean anyone was angry with anyone else...

Three hours into their ride, in the bitter cold, snow-drift, he concluded that yes, Benjen was  _ definitely  _ mad at him. Whatever he thought to find out wasn't worth the cold that seeped into his bones. He kept himself distracted by the thought of finally having real steel in his hands. It had been so long since he'd had a fight, though, he was itching for it. Practice fights weren't the same.

The spearwife Osha had even decided to come with them. She alone seemed to acknowledge that the mutineers probably weren't treating Craster's daughters with much kindness. The younger boys spoke of avenging Mormont and their fallen brothers, and nothing of the women that were likely trapped there. They were young, they didn't want to think about it. He hadn't, in the past. He remembered Aerys, and how he'd tormented Rhaella, and he tried not to, again. The girl Tarly had brought with him to the Wall was proof enough of Craster's cruelty, timid and frightened.

Swords. Killing. Justice. It was a much better train of thought than that. He focused on the fight, and on the cold. 

Craster's Keep was a shithole of a farm, squat and pig stinking. He could hear the drunken revelry of the mutineers inside, and the unhappy murmurs of the women who milled around, directionless and stoic. 

The first man went down easily, stepping outside for an ale soaked piss. His yelp of pain as Grenn cut him down alerted the rest. A few women shouted their alarm, and half a dozen brothers in black stormed outside.

The fight was quick. They were drunk and half asleep, and the six men Jon had brought with him were better prepared by a mile. It wouldn't take long to get rid of them. 

He caught sight of the shape of Rast coming out of a side door, trying to sneak away. Separating from the fray, Jaime followed him. He heard the women muttering to each other nearby but he pushed past. 

No survivors, they had agreed to that, 

They'd forfeit their lives when they'd killed Lord Commander Mormont. He cut Rast off around a blind corner, and the man startled.

"Kingslayer," he growled, drawing his sword, as if he could hold his own in this fight. 

"It's too bad you're not more important or maybe they'd start calling me Rastslayer," he joked lazily, parrying a hit. 

"Surprised you haven't deserted to go back to fucking your sister," he said. He deserved to die for a number of reasons, but uncreative insults were at the top of the list, as far as Jaime was concerned. A few more blows traded before he caught Rast off balance. He slashed across his chest, shallow but enough to stun him.

Before he could raise his sword for a final strike, a white blur took Rast to the ground in a spray of red.

Ghost looked up at Jaime, blood across his muzzle, wagging his tail.

"Good dog," he said, looking over to the open cage, a wildling woman beside it holding the rusted lock. She'd set him free. He raised a hand in thanks, and she turned and returned to her sisters. 

Ghost and Jaime joined the rest in the keep just in time to watch one of Craster's wives stab Karl Tanner through the back of his head. The last mutineer slumped to the ground, and there was nothing left but a fire catching, the smell of burning shit and blood in the air. 

Jon turned and beamed at the sight of Ghost, both of them covered in blood. "Ghost, I was worried I'd never see you again," he said, rubbing the wolf on the muzzle.

"He came here lookin for you, I reckon. Stuck around, tried to help, but they caught him," the eldest woman said.

Looking up from rubbing the blood off of Ghost's fur, he gave her a smile, unsure smile. "Come with us, you'll be safe on the wall," Jon said.

"They'll treat ya kindly," Osha agreed, cleaning off her spear. "They know what'll happen if they don't."

"Begging your pardons, King Crow, but we'll make our own way. These brothers didn't treat us with any kindness, nor Craster before him. Perhaps we're better off with no men at all." 

Jaime thought they had a point. Most women, he thought, would probably be better off with fewer men in their lives.

"If you change your mind, come to the wall and I'll let you through," he said. He leaned in and lowered his voice, so it was hard for the rest of his brothers to hear. "Mance Rayder will treat you kindly, as well. He is coming, and soon, so be careful if you don't mean to join him."

The elder nodded, ushering the other girls back, all of them watching the burning house. The brothers found a place to camp a respectful distance away, not wanting to trouble the women who had already been troubled for too long. 

They returned to the wall at noon the following day, bloodied and exhausted. The younger lads giddy from a successful mission, and Jaime reflecting on how quickly his fortieth name-day was coming. He ached, and longed for a bath. 

"We could hear Mance's men on the way back," Jon reported to his uncle, clearly ignoring the disappointed look that Thorne gave him. He'd wanted the boy to expire, and Jaime too, judging by the cool look he got when he stepped up to agree.

Slynt muttered something to Thorne, and Jaime too note of it. There were more important things to concern himself with than whatever these two dunderheads were conspiring, but if Benjen was going to dismiss it out of hand, he would have to be the one who kept an eye on it. 

"They'll be here in a few days," he agreed. He'd seen enough sieges, he could feel it in the air. War was on the horizon, marching to drums and the trumpeting of mammoths. 


	16. Chapter 16

"Mole's Town!" Grenn snapped, aggrieved.

Two of their brothers had been slaughtered along with a large portion of the population of the nearest town to Castle Black. They'd been out whoring, as they weren't meant to. It was well known that brothers of the watch went to the brothel in Mole's Town with some frequency, but Benjen had been clear about leaving the wall with the raiders south of the wall and a battle imminent. They'd disobeyed him, and they had died.

"They knew the risks."

"What, so they deserved it?" he said. Grenn was a burly young man, probably not bright, but stronger than an auruchs and braver than most of the rangers left to them. The idea of deserving to die for whoring offended him, even as honorable as he was.

Edd sighed. "I'm not saying  _ that _ , I'm saying they knew the wildlings were raiding nearby and went out anyway. That was  _ stupid _ ." 

Pyp put an arm out to calm Grenn. "And we can't do nothing?" 

"We  _ can't  _ fall into Gaintsbane's trap," Jaime declared. Jon nodded in agreement. "He wants us to lose good fighting men in petty skirmishes so that Mance Rayder finds old men and little boys when he arrives. It feels terrible, but the bigger picture must be considered here."

He'd seen tactics like this in the rebellion, and other smaller conflicts besides. The waiting drove men to rash action, and they were put at a disadvantage. They had to stay put.

Benjen had been increasingly isolated from his men. He made his excuses about preparing, but Jaime suspected that he was giving in to grief, finally, and fear. He hadn't heard from his brother since their departure from King's Landing, however long ago that had been.

He had lost Mormont and feared his brother may be lost to him, too. Even having the little Starks here couldn't truly reassure him. Robb and the Greyjoy boy were still in danger, and the only word out of the south were rumors of Greyjoy ships in Blackwater Bay, another foreboding message.

"There's going to be a battle, isn't there?" Jeyne asked, when the brothers finally dispersed. Other than Jon, who she knew, and Sam, who was so gentle it was almost a farce, she was cautious around the men of the watch, though not as easily spooked as she had been when they'd met. She'd been treated well in the intervening months, and he was glad of it.

"Yes. Sam and Gilly showed you where to hide, right?" he asked. The drafty, underutilized cellar was going to be a space of refuge for the women and children that had taken to calling Castle Black their temporary home.

She nodded. "Is Lord Stark all right? He's seemed…"

"He's a busy man, Jeyne. There's no need to fuss over him," he said, frowning. There hadn't been time to talk since the raid of the mutineers. Jaime was reinforcing doors and making battle strategies, and Benjen was pouring over maps and pointedly ignoring him.

He didn't care. If Stark meant to wound him, he was failing. 

"He might need your advice. Maybe you should talk to him," she said.

He felt a great deal of affection for the girl, as she stared at him with big brown eyes, but in that moment he could only glare. "Mind your business, Jeyne."

"If we're all killed by wildlings, you'll regret not talking to him." She was giving him a sly grin, now. She had probably read so many romantic stories and sung so many romantic ballads about lovers meeting one more time before their tragic deaths. It was clearly all so amusing to her.

"You don't know anything about it," he said, even though she was right.

He knocked. 

"I'm busy, Jaime."

"No you're not," he countered, opening the door, proving himself right at the sight of Benjen sitting on the bed, doing nothing of import.

"Fine. What do you want?"

"To fuck one more time before we all die?"

He seemed startled by the bluntness. "We're not going to die," he said, but he stood up, all the same. "I hope you don't think I've been angry at you," he said. 

"No." Jaime locked the door. There was no interrupting this, this inevitability. "I'm sorry. I've had things on my mind."

"So have I." There was a tense pause, full of the things neither of them were saying. "Tyrion said in your letter that you're still loyal to Cersei," he said. "It troubled me for a while, and maybe I didn't express it," he said. "It's stupid." 

"Gods, that  _ is _ stupid. Look at me, look at where I am. My family has done nothing for me since I got here. Have I not proven some modicum of loyalty to this?"  _ To you _ , he struggled to avoid saying.

"Why? What has the Watch done for you? The men here barely tolerate you, it's miserable, and you're forced to be away from your family. You didn't make the choice to come up here, it's meant to be a punishment. Why have any loyalty to that?"

"The world up here makes sense," he said. "You do the right thing and if you don't, you die. The politics are easy to understand, it's...dire. Life in King's Landing is idle and nothing matters. Everyone is backstabbing everyone else. You can kill a king and remain a Kingsguard. It doesn't have  _ meaning _ . It's all a farce there. Everyone is fake. They're whoring and drinking and pretending they're doing something, but they're  _ not _ ."

He hadn't realized how he'd felt until he was finally forced to say it. How easy life was, here. Even as terrible and miserable and barren as it was. It appealed to the stupidly honourable view of life he'd had all those years ago, before he'd been corrupted. 

"And  _ you're _ worth following. Into death, if it comes to it. You treat your men fairly, even the ones conspiring against you. Your honour is real. That's what matters, in the end."

Benjen just smiled. "Did you want to fuck now, or were you not done with that nice speech?"

" _ Please _ . I've said too much already." This was more than they'd talked, possibly ever. 

It had been too long, and things were too desperate.

Jaime took a few steps towards the bed, grabbing the Ranger and trying to forget their impending doom, at least for the night.

It was well past midnight when the horn blasts woke them. Only the second time they'd allowed themselves to fall asleep next to each other, ruined by the reality that waited for them outside the room that played at being a sanctuary. 

Two, for wildlings.

Benjen stopped him before he could get up. "Jaime, don't get yourself killed," he said. "Please."

There was nothing to say, so he kissed him again and found his trousers and his sword, not waiting for him to follow.

Jon was atop the wall, Slynt and Thorne as well. Down below, he and Benjen were in charge of keeping the wildlings from breaching the castle. Crossbowmen and archers picked them off from the air, as the rest scrambled for supplies, for anything. 

It didn't take long for the fighting to spill into the courtyard. The wildlings came over the top of the gate, twenty of them.

Jaime drew his sword, picking his target; a monster of a man with a scarred, bald head and a feral look in his eye. He'd heard enough of Benjen's planning and lamenting to understand who this was; the Magnar of Thenn. 

He didn't look that tough, Jaime thought, lying to himself as his sword met the ax-blow. 

He actually managed to keep up with him for a while. 

"All you've got is size," he quipped, blocking. 

"And if you keep fighting like some fat spoiled knight in a metal suit," he said, voice barely more than a growl. "You'll die, all the same."

"Fat?" he asked, nearly distracted. 

More distracting was the arrow he felt catch him in the side. He jerked away instinctively, and it pulled him away from where the Thenn's ax was about to catch him in the chest. The blade carved through his leather jerkin and the flesh under his arm.

He hit the ground, just from the shock of it. Someone pulled him up and dragged him back toward the castle. "No, I need to fight."

"You need to go inside," Pypar said under his arm. His face blurred when Jaime turned to look at him, and considered he was maybe more injured than he'd initially thought. His hand found the second arrow, stuck in his side, and his gaze found the broken shaft sticking out of his thigh.

_ Oh.  _

Pyp deposited him in a heap by the door, and he heard someone call his name as he faded out of consciousness, and felt cool hands on his face.


	17. Chapter 17

When his eyes snapped open again, a shock of adrenaline coursing through him, Jeyne Poole was regarding him with sleepy eyes. 

"How long was I out?" he asked, dragging himself to his feet despite Sansa's protests. 

"A few hours, maybe?" Bran supplied. "You woke up because…" he pointed to the corner, where Janos Slynt cowered among women and babes. A fool, as he'd always known. 

"I'll deal with that later." He struggled to his feet. 

"Jaime, you're hurt," Jeyne protested, grabbing his arm. "Stay here with us." There were other injured brothers among them. He didn't need to waste the time of the village women sheltering there, trying to stitch up wounds.

"I'm fine," he said. "I have to…" Have to find Benjen? Have to make sure I die well? "I have to help my brothers," he settled on. 

He shut the door in Jeyne's pleading face and hobbled out into the courtyard. The battle within the walls was nearly over. He stepped over the body of the Magnar of Thenn, dodged Ghost as he ran to the side of his master, and saw Benjen alive across the courtyard, pale and bloodied but alive.

He had a wildling by the hair. She was in between him and the last standing wildling, a beast of a man who was still standing with four arrows stuck in his back. 

"Tormund, it's over," Jon Snow said in a pleading voice.

"Drop your sword," Benjen agreed. "Or I kill the girl."

The 'girl' was a woman of an age with Jon, with red hair to match Tormund's, and a fierce, unafraid look on her face. "Go ahead and do it, Crow," she goaded.

There was a tense pause. 

"Benjen, let her go," Jon said, turning to his uncle. "They're beaten."

Benjen's dagger was at the ready, and his eyes fixed on Giantsbane, who slashed at the nearest brother attempting to take him down.

"If you're gonna kill me, just get it over with," the girl said, just as both Snow and Giantsbane shouted their protests.

This wasn't right. They were beaten, but the cold desperate look on Benjen's face -- it's like they had lost, even though there were two wildlings standing and at least thrice as many brothers in the courtyard.

" _ Benjen _ ," Jaime finally said, closing the distance and putting a hand on his shoulder. It seemed to snap him out of his revere.

He loosened his grip on the girl and she scrambled away, shoving Benjen into Jaime and running to Giantsbane. The wildling put himself between her and the other brothers, like a bear with its cub, and lowered his sword.

"Go back inside, Jaime," Benjen said, not looking him in the eye. 

He supposed the arrows were distracting. "Not until the fighting's done."

"It is."

"No, it isn't," he said. "Is it?"

"The gate held through the night, but until we kill Mance Rayder, they'll keep coming. We don't have the men. We don't have the resources."

Jon Snow steadied his uncle. "I'll go. He'll see me at least long enough to --" 

"No. Don't even...it's a death wish," Benjen said softly, a hand on his nephew's shoulder. He seemed to understand that someone needed to go, though. "I'll go. I'm in command, and it's my responsibility." 

"You're more important to the wall than I am. I'm a turncloak, remember?" He smiled, a wry, bitter smile that was just like his uncle's. "They'd kill you in an instant. They might give me a chance."

Jaime cleared his throat. "I'll go with the boy. I can kill whatever guards Rayder has when it comes it and maybe he'll get out alive." He ruffled Snow's hair, like it was a fun trip, and not a suicide mission, and Jon scowled. Whatever importance Jon held, he could at least help preserve it.

"No. Don't be -- you can't. Tarly, tell them," he said, turning away as Samwell Tarly came over, clutching a crossbow. 

"You can't," Tarly repeated dully, obviously not knowing what he was agreeing to. 

Dawn was breaking. There was no time. No other way. 

Jon removed his sword, shoving it at Tarly. "Keep Longclaw safe for me, I promised Mormont I'd never lose it again," he said gruffly, making his way to the gate. A few of the brothers still standing joined them. 

"Jaime  _ stop _ ," Benjen said, but he kept on. 

He was already dying, judging by the sticky heat coating his right side. He may as well go out in a fight, right? Better that than succumb to some kind of fever or infection. "Jon's right. Mance might speak with him. He  _ won't  _ speak with you. They won't know me from a hole in the ground, so they might not kill me on sight."

"Am I really meant to lose both of you in one day?" he asked, quietly, more to the gods than to Jaime. 

"We're the watchers on the wall, Benjen. It's our fate." He didn't even look down to assess his own wounds, just snapped the remaining arrow shaft off and tossed it aside. He'd never been able to be with anyone he loved, so why would things ever change? They would  _ all  _ die if they didn't do something about the wildling King. "I'll get him back alive."

One life or a hundred, it was a choice he would make every time. 

The tunnel was littered with bodies, a giant slumped at the bars. 

"They held the gate," Jon said, his voice tinged with a bone deep fatigue as he looked down at their dead brothers. 

One of them stirred. Under the pile of bodies, Alliser Thorne dragged himself to his knees. 

Benjen knelt and helped him up. Thorne stumbled, and it was clear he was more gravely injured than he was letting on in his stoic demeanor. "Brothers, take Thorne to get his wounds looked at immediately. By the time you wake again, I hope we'll have ended this," he said to him. "Thank you."

Thorne groaned, and Grenn and Edd carried him out of the tunnel. 

The gate opened slowly. Jaime watched the swirling snow around them, feeling his own mind swirl. The dizziness came and went in spells. Jon Snow went first, and Jaime turned to Benjen before he followed.

He wanted to kiss him, but Tarly was still lingering just behind them. 

"When I get back, you can tell me who Jon's mother is," he said in a low voice, and Benjen's dark eyes widened. It had troubled him for weeks, but he'd kept his distance from it, not wanting another fight to bloom. "You already know all of my secrets." He didn't. "So I get to know one."

If he died, he could at least mess with him a little bit before he did. 

The walk to Mance Rayder's camp grew more agonizing by the step. Dawn came in cold and bitterly bright, and Jaime saw the steady drip of his own blood on the snow, creating a neat trail behind them.

"You should go back," Jon said, looking him over. "Ser Jaime, this is madness." 

"It is." He nodded. "They'll try to kill you the moment you kill him. I can help fight your way out and you can ride hard back to the wall. Maybe you'll make it out alive."

"But  _ you  _ won't."

"That's fine," Jaime said. "I've been living on borrowed time since I killed Aerys, Snow." 

"It  _ isn't _ . My uncle --" The wildlings surrounded them before he could finish the thought, pushing them along with spears. Mance Rayder was in the largest tent, surrounded by men, and holding a newborn babe in his arms. He didn't look much like a king. He just looked like a man. 

Jaime didn't know what to make of that.

"Your son was born," Jon said, sounding weary. 

"Come to kill me?" Mance asked shrewdly. "It does make sense to bring the Kingslayer for such a task," he said. 

Jaime's hand tightened on his sword. "You know me?" 

"In reputation. I was a brother of the watch for a long time. The comings and goings of Westeros were not unknown to me." 

"We need to end this, Mance," Jon said. "We have Tormund. We held the gate. Throw your men against the wall night after night, for what?" 

"We sent the King of the Giants into the gate," he rumbled in a thoughtful tone. "He's dead, then?"

Jon nodded.

The King of the Giants. Seven hells, what was worth sacrificing someone like that for? 

"Let us through and no more blood will be shed," he said. 

"You know I can't."

"Then we'll kill every man at the wall," Mance said, his voice dropping. 

He had a newborn son and twenty thousand wildlings or more and all they wanted was to be allowed on the other side of the wall. If the stories of the dead were true, what kind of men were they to deny them that safety? There were miles and miles of unused land in the north, dozens of unused castles on the wall. 

"If you came here to kill me, Jon Snow, you'll be dead before I hit the ground. And you know that. So what is --" 

A horn blared in the distance.

"What is this?" Mance demanded. "An attack?"

"We don't have the men, you know we don't," he said. 

"Those aren't horns of the Watch," Jaime said, and he stepped out of the tent, a flash of red in the snow, as he saw gray banners and green banners snap in the wind, and then nothing else.


	18. Chapter 18

He woke up in a bed. Tyrion's face came into focus when he turned his stiff neck. "Am I dead?" he asked his brother.

"Don't try to sit up, you absolute fool." That was his real, flesh and blood brother all right. Jaime could cry.

"What the fuck are you doing here? We're still at Castle Black, aren't we? Did you get sent up here while I was -- where's Mance Rayder?" 

Tyrion was chuckling at how aggrieved he was. "Calm down and I can tell you the story." 

Jaime laid against the pillows, as calm as he could be. It had been ages since he'd seen Tyrion, and he wanted to embrace him and tell him how much he'd missed him. Instead, he listened. 

"You were rescued from your frankly appallingly stupid mission by Lord Stark and Lord Stannis on behalf of Queen Margaery," he said. "The wildling king surrendered to preserve the lives of his people, and is now captive here while they work out some sort of peace," he continued. "You have been in and out of coherence for about a week and a half. You've had a fever, and I've learned so many interesting things while you've been out." 

Jaime paled. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, little Lady Jeyne has been by your side for most of the week, and thinks of you as one of her very best friends."

He groaned. 

"-- and when he's not too busy with his Commanding duties, Ranger Stark does like to stop by and stare at your unconscious body. Of which he seems  _ quite  _ fond --" 

"Tyrion, I swear to all the gods in all the heavens, if you keep talking, I'll kill you," he said, hiding his face in his hands.

"It's nice you've made friends up here. It was very sad before, when your only friends were your siblings," he said agreeably.

"How did you come to be here if the Stark army rescued us?" he said. 

"Well, uh. Father named Joff his heir, denied my claim to Casterly Rock, and is generally just...the worst… and tried to marry me off to a Frey girl. So I left for greener pastures, so to speak. I understand you value familial loyalty quite a lot, but as I've gotten older, I've realized...I don't need…" 

"Lord Stannis promised you Casterly Rock if you helped him, didn't he?" he asked bluntly. 

"Pretty much immediately. Ned Stark wants me to replace him as Hand of the King so he might return north and deal with his treacherous bannermen." 

Jaime tried to hide his pride. Tywin had always been foolish to not recognize Tyrion's value for what it was, and if Stannis and Stark saw it and rewarded it, then their family bonds were truly worthless. His brother was the cleverest man he knew, and others needed to see it. 

"I thought the Twins and Moat Cailin were both in the possession of Father," he said.

"They are --" 

Stannis Baratheon was a formidable military commander, that was true. Jaime had always known it. "You sailed up the coast. The Greyjoy ships in Blackwater Bay." 

"Lady Asha was most receptive to Margaery's plead for an alliance after her father was killed," he agreed, waggling his eyebrows at the innuendo.

A woman ruling the Ironborn. That was novel. "So you struck a deal with her -- use her ships to bring the armies north to Eastwatch, so there would be no reports of Manderly ships. Rescue the wall and make your way south to eliminate the Bolton threat and free Moat Cailin," he said, nodding along. "Then Ned Stark helps her root out her treacherous uncle and the Lord of the Iron Islands has the support of the Warden of the North." 

Tyrion smiled. "It's quite clever. I can't take credit for it --" 

"Stannis, I know," he said. "So who is left in the field for Father to fight?" 

"Mace Tyrell and the armies of the Reach hold King's Landing, and the Riverlords are besieging the Twins, waiting for the Northern forces to break through the Neck and help their victory," he said. "Father will be defeated quite decisively. He could not appeal to Lysa or Prince Doran with marriage promises, so he is quite without allies. I know you might not…" 

"It's fine," he said, sighing. Cersei had demanded a war, and she had gotten it, right? "I'm a brother of the watch, now. My old life doesn't matter."

Tyrion had a quip ready for that, but the door to the sickbay opened and Jeyne Poole came in, grinning at the sight of him awake. 

"Ser Jaime! You seem much better today," she said, setting down a cup of water next to him. 

"I think I am," he said, though he still felt weak. 

"Lord Tyrion is quite funny," she said. "He's been telling us all sorts of foolish stories." 

"Children find my sense of humor quite entertaining," he said agreeably.

"Oh, it's because at heart you're still just a little bit of a child yourself, baby brother," he said, reaching over and mussing Tyrion's hair. 

A young boy lingered in the door. "Lord Tyrion?" 

"Oh, Jaime, this is my squire Podrick Payne," he said, a little bit of pride in his voice. "He's a knight in the making, the way he's handled himself these past few months." 

Podrick flushed. "That's...I don't..." 

"If you were a knight, I bet Lord Stark would let you court Lady Sansa," Jeyne said in a teasing voice as Podrick turned deep red and excused himself, Jeyne trailing behind him.

"Lord Baratheon wants to see you," Podrick finally said, sticking his head back through the doorway and then disappearing once again. 

"I'll take my leave of you, Jaime. I'll be back by. I don't believe we'll make the ride to Winterfell for a few days, yet. The snows are starting." 

"Winter is coming," someone said in the doorway.

It was Benjen, of course. He looked cleaner than Jaime had seen him in months. Meeting with the Queen's men, he supposed, justified a bath.

"That's what they say, at least," Jaime agreed.

Tyrion gave him a shrewd look as he took his leave.

"Jeyne told me you were finally awake," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I couldn't stomach another war strategy meeting, so I thought I'd see --" 

Jaime finally pushed himself up off his pillows, the barely healed wounds in his side threatening to burst. "Well, here I am, alive. In the flesh." 

Benjen reached out, as it maybe to touch his arm, but there was no privacy here. He put it back down on the blanket. "Has anyone ever told you that you're quite possibly the stupidest man alive?" 

"I'll add you to the list. It's quite long. Starts with my father and ends with everyone I ever met," he said. "What happened to Mance Rayder? And Jon?" 

That was the part of the story that Tyrion had neglected to tell him, and he burned to know.

"Mance's fate will be left to the Queen and little King when they arrive from White Harbour. The men don't like it, but neither Ned nor Stannis can find any good reason to deny them passage through the Wall. If Mance Rayder agrees to some terms, that's likely what will happen." 

"They won't kneel to her," he said, knowing nothing of wildlings but at least knowing that.

"No. I don't know if that's what they'll ask." 

Jaime nodded. "When can I leave this room?" 

"When Maester Aemon and Tarly say so. And not a moment sooner." Benjen stood from the bed and looked down at him, smiling faintly. "I'm glad you're not dead, Ranger Lannister." 

"Same to you."

"We can talk about Jon's mother when you're recovered," he added in a low voice.

"All right, then. I'll recover quickly."


	19. Chapter 19

He did not recover quickly.

However, within a day of regaining his senses, Aemon told him he would probably be fine to get up and walk around, rather than being bedridden. So he limped around, helping the wall with whatever they'd allow him to. Mostly that involved dawdling around the rookery, or running drills. Thorne had been injured more gravely than Jaime, so he hadn't returned to his duties as Master of Arms.

Lord Stannis and Lord Stark watched him from above as he critiqued Pyp's stance, trying to demonstrate with a frankly pathetic range of motion. They had brought more recruits, mostly traitors, but some poor souls made orphans by the war. 

Jon Snow joined the group training. "It's nice to see you alive, Lannister," he said, shaking Jaime's hand. "When you passed out I thought I was going to have to carry you back myself. Luckily Stannis's men were up to the task." 

They both laughed. "At least I'm not the only fool at the wall," he said. "I suppose it's nice to have your father visiting," he said, turning his eyes to Ned Stark, solemn and grim faced. Once, he might have felt a burning contempt for the man who had helped decide to send him here, but now...he didn't feel anything. He didn't  _ care _ .

"It is. It will be nicer when I know Robb and Theon are safe," he added. "And you, you get to see your brother."

"It's been a long time," he agreed.

Tyrion caught him at dinner, plying him with wine and regaling him with tales from the Capitol. Ranging from Mace Tyrell's singing to Olenna's meddling, to rumors of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons.

"Margaery has named her son Orys. She says because it's a traditional Baratheon name, but she's a shrewd woman. If Daenerys threatens Westeros, she can try and claim herself a friend. Subtle, but I noticed." 

He doubted anyone else had. 

"She's visiting the wall soon. I don't think she'll linger, but she has an idea of being Good Queen Alysane and gaining the favor of the Watch."

Jaime nodded. "The men will appreciate it, I think."

He didn't think they'd care, but he wasn't going to say that to the court. 

"I do have concerns about the loyalty of some of them," Tyrion said in an easy voice, his eyes flitting over to where Slynt sat among the other gold cloak recruits, glaring at the northern men sharing their space.

"As do I. Don't worry, I'm keeping an eye on it."

Tyrion nodded.

"Where are Tommen and Myrcella?" he asked in a whisper, leaning forward to his brother. "They're safe, yes?" 

"Tommen is in Oldtown, forging a Maester's chain, and Myrcella is a Lady in Waiting for Queen Margaery. She darkened her hair and goes by a false name for fear her mother will kidnap her. They have tried to use her and Tommen in alliances despite not having them, so her fear might be justified."

Jaime hated the thought that she was afraid of Cersei. Cersei loved her children, and he didn't want to think she'd ever do them intentional harm. But he wasn't so sure, after so long away from her, that he really knew her at all.

"Good. It's good they're safe."

"I wish the same could be said for Joffrey," Tyrion said, though he didn't mean it. "He hasn't exactly proven himself in battle or made himself beloved. If we'd been able to send him to squire or something, maybe --"

"I don't think so. Joffrey has never been...right," he said. He watched Janos carefully as they spoke. He wasn't subtle in his attempts to eavesdrop. "I must say, I think Tommen will make a great septon," Jaime said in a slightly raised voice. "And Myrcella must love the Reach."

"She's written to say just how much," Tyrion agreed, standing up. "I must retire for the evening."

"I don't think you're recovered enough for this," Benjen said when Jaime entered his room a few nights later.

"You'll just have to be gentle with me," he said, passing a wine skin he'd knicked from Tyrion's rather large store of it. Why he'd traveled with so much, he didn't know, but he wouldn't miss a little bit.

"I'm not sure I'm capable of gentleness." He certainly hadn't demonstrated much of it during their time together, that was true.

Jaime ached when he sat down, kicking off his boots and muffling a groan of protest. The scars were still an ugly red, hidden by the layers of black. "I've survived worse." 

Benjen pushed him back into the pillows with a light touch. "Only by sheer luck," he said. "Incredibly dumb luck." 

"There is nothing more arousing than being called stupid," he said, kissing him. 

"That explains so much about you," he responded, not hiding his laughter. "I can tell you that I've never worried about another grown man more than I have you. You've probably aged me twenty years with your recklessness." 

Benjen's doubts about his gentleness were clearly unfounded, as calloused hands lightly brushed against the angry scars, and Jaime tried not to wince, the fresh skin still too sensitive. 

Jaime laughed. "You're not much better," he said. "Look at where you are now. The Queen of Westeros' arrival is imminent and you're in bed with the Kingslayer. Your brother or mine could walk in at any moment."

"I never claimed I  _ wasn't _ foolish," he said. "But you're talking too much tonight." 

After everything, he was in no rush to leave for once, lying there and contemplating the ceiling. "So, Jon's mother." 

"Really? This is what you want to talk about right now?" Benjen asked, his tone good-humoured but his posture tense. 

"You said you'd tell me, once I got better. I think being well enough to fuck is recovered enough for a shocking conversation," he said, reaching out for his hand. "You told me a while ago that you weren't like your brother, that you couldn't just lay with one person for your whole life," he said.

"I misspoke," he said. "Even men like Ned make mistakes and stray. He never has  _ since  _ \--"

"He never has at all," he said bluntly. "Ned Stark having a bastard is as likely as Stannis Baratheon having one. So where did Jon come from?" he paused, and thought about it. "He's not  _ your  _ son, is he?" The resemblance  _ was _ there.

Benjen snorted. "No, I've never even been with a woman." 

Jaime laughed. "All right. So what is it? What's the big secret? Ashara Dayne?" 

"It's nothing so interesting, Jaime," he said, dismissively. It clearly was interesting, though.

Pushing the urge to jest out of his mind, he thought of the facts, as they were. "He went to war to get his sister back and came home with a baby he named his son." Jaime paused, and Benjen looked at him, horror dawning on his face. "So he's Lyanna's, then?"

"Jaime --" 

"No wonder he's at the wall," he said, trying not to laugh at this -- the greatest secret in Westerosi history was an eighteen year old boy trapped at the wall. "Of course Ned would hide Rhaegar's bastard up here." 

"I know you're pleased with yourself for figuring it out, but you  _ can't  _ tell anyone," Benjen said, his tone serious as he sat up. "Ned has never told." 

"Except you?" 

"No. I figured it out on my own after Lya died. He knows I know but we don't discuss it. Until Robert died, it wasn't safe. And now, with what they're saying about Daenerys coming to Westeros, it's even less safe." 

"He's a bastard, and a brother of the Watch, he's no threat to her claim." 

"No, but if she's Aerys reborn, that won't matter. It has to stay between us." There had been no such rumors of her character that Jaime had heard, but he understood the insecurity. 

Jaime sighed. "Lay back down, Benjen. I'm not going to tell anyone. I'm very good at keeping secrets, I promise." Though he didn't know if he would be able to sleep, now that he knew. The implications of this were...well, he didn't have the political mind of his father or brother, or even Cersei, but he did think the whole thing was fascinating. 

"As stupid as you are," Benjen joked. "That was very clever." 

He grinned. "Well, there you go, getting me started again." 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ned: am i the only male stark who isnt a thot

The Queen arrived the next day. The carriage she came in was not overly ornate, but a right sight finer than anything that the men of the Watch had seen, he thought. She stepped out holding the little King in her arms. She was a pretty young woman, with long brown hair and dark eyes, her green dress sewn with vines and thorns, and lined with silvery gray fur. 

Even barely old enough to walk and talk, the babe looked like Robert. Jaime felt a surge of hate, and a surge of pity. He had long since abandoned the thought that he had anything to do with Robert's death, but it still felt strange that he wished death on a man, and now he was dead, and he had to kneel to his son.

Flanking Margaery was her brother, nearly her double, resplendent in silvery armor and a white cloak, and a tall, blue-armored… woman? 

What strange company Queen Margaery kept. A knightly brother as pretty as a maid and a maid acting a knight.

"It is so nice to be here to meet you all," she said graciously to the gathered men. It wasn't the whole might of the watch, but the officers from the other castles had ridden to be in attendance. It had coincided with their need to vote in the new Lord Commander.

Benjen looked the part, clean and shaven and wearing one of the less disgusting cloaks he owned, as he bowed to the queen and toddler king. "Your Grace, whatever hospitality Castle Black can muster is yours." 

"Thank you so much. I hope we can help the Night's Watch, as you all help the realm. Too long have you been neglected and forgotten. I have brought with me some provisions from the Reach, and I hope to bring up some more when our own war is over, so that you might have better stores for winter."

There was a smattering of tired, but not insincere, cheers. She was _good_. Cersei had never spent much energy trying to get the people of the realm to care for her or like her. She simply was their Queen, and they had to deal with that. Margaery saw the political value in being loved, and maybe she earnestly wanted to help. 

It felt like a deep betrayal of his family, but he thought this little brown-eyed girl would be a better queen than Cersei ever had been. He didn't know why his sister insisted upon fighting for that throne when she could have lived her days as a wealthy woman, or let Tywin name her his heir to slight Tyrion.

She greeted Stannis and Ned generously, and the men of the watch resumed their daily activities.

"Ranger Lannister, you've met the wildling king, come with me to this meeting," Benjen said. What he meant was 'spare me the drudgery of my brother and Stannis'.

He found himself in a room he'd been in many times, pouring over an ancient map of the North. This time he felt the suspicious eyes of men who hated him as he entered.

"Benjen," Stark cautioned.

"Ned, I won't hear anymore of it," Benjen said tiredly. "I trust Ranger Lannister's opinion."

Jaime tried not to smirk at Ned Stark's scowl, and the thought that this was a fight they'd had before was as amusing as it was alarming.

"So what is being proposed, my Lords?" Queen Margaery asked. "I admit your ravens were less than illuminating on the subject."

"Mance Rayder wishes for passage to south of the wall for the wildlings in his army," Stannis said bluntly, and Jaime didn't imagine he'd written it down any differently. "It poses an unknown risk to the Northern people and the Night's Watch, but men of the Watch have corroborated Rayder's story about an army of dead men marching south. My own advisers have agreed there is a threat beyond our understanding out there."

Stark snorted. Jaime had heard whisper that Stannis had taken up with a red priestess, and not in the fun boozy way Robert had taken up with Thoros of Myr twenty years ago. 

"So we offer them passage through the wall, saving their women and children from famine and death?" Margaery asked, frowning. "If I recall, much of the lands south of the wall are uninhabited."

"Your Grace, those lands are The Gift," Benjen said. "They were given to the watch for their support and sustenance."

"And they go unused," she said, her voice suddenly direct and firm. "Along with over half your castles." She was done pretending not to understand, clearly. "Enough space for the entirety of north of the wall to empty and no one even notice a difference, if the wildlings agree to act accordingly. The Umbers and the Karstarks may feel a bit of strain, but we can appease them with marriages or whatever we need to." 

"Only the Lord Commander can allow the gate to be open for something like this," Benjen said.

"Then do you allow it?" Margaery asked.

"Your Grace, I'm not the Lord Commander. The vote has not happened."

"Well, it should happen soon, then. And whoever is voted Lord Commander can make the decision. As the Queen, I say that it serves no one to keep them north of the wall to potentially die to some unknown horror. If they swear to at least give us peaceful conduct, we should allow them passage. I'll leave the decision to the Lord Commander and the Warden of the North, but that's the opinion of the King."

"She's good," Jaime mouthed silently to Benjen, who grimaced and nodded.

"Kingslayer, what are your thoughts?" Stark asked.

Benjen scowled. " _Lord Stark_ , if you would --"

Jaime held out a hand to silence Benjen's well-intentioned defense. "I met Mance Rayder, it's true. I can't speak for everyone in his army but I do believe he means what he says. He isn't trying to conquer the north, he simply wants his people to survive. He has a newborn son. His wife died on the birthing bed. The Brothers of the Watch have been at war with the Free Folk for so long that they'll resent any orders for peace, but that's what Mance wants. He isn't a killer or a monster. He fought because he knew coming to the Wall would be a fight, not because he has any ill-will towards us. There are many who do, it's true. But they can be placated, I think." 

Stannis nodded to Stark. "Our march to Winterfell cannot delay any longer. Lord Edmure grows impatient in the south. Name your new Commander so we may settle this and make our way," he groused.

  
  
  


"You'll be who they vote for," Jaime said, his mouth against Benjen's ear as they quickly stripped, Jaime pinned against the wall, still too aching to be as active as he longed to be.

"If they have their wits about them they'll give it to Cotter Pyke or Denys Mallister," he murmured back. "I'm a _Ranger_. It's not the same. I've led Castle Black in Mormont's absence but they've led Eastwatch and Shadowtower for decades. Denys will tell anyone who listened that he's survived ten winters."

They shared a chuckle. "That doesn't mean they're _good_ at it. Men like you. That does count for something, as our new queen has shown us." 

Benjen sighed against his neck. "This conversation can wait."

Jaime agreed enthusiastically, pushed back into the mattress a little more roughly than his healing body could withstand. He kept silent even at the ache, just so they wouldn't have to stop.

Perhaps they'd gotten arrogant in the amount they were sharing a bed. Before the battle, it was inconceivable, but now it seemed like once a week or more, Jaime fell asleep against Benjen's shoulder.

So it was an inevitability that the door hadn't been latched the night before, both of them in a hurry to warm themselves under furs and against skin. And it was an inevitability that the morning he was still abed in Benjen's quarters past dawn was the morning Ned Stark walked in.

"Gods damn it, Benjen," he said in a deadpan voice, closing the door and his eyes as they scrambled for coverage. 

Adding Lord Stark to the list of people he didn't want walking in on him, Jaime groaned.

"Ned! _Knock_!"

"Knocking would not fix this," he said, satisfied that all men in the room were wearing trousers and finally opening his eyes. "On the precipice of becoming Lord Commander, you break your vows? With the _Kingslayer_?"

"I don't recall swearing I wouldn't fuck any men," Benjen said. His brother cringed. "That part is really up for interpretation."

Ned exhaled loudly through his nose. "I want to know what you plan to do if the vote favours you."

"I haven't decided yet," he said. "Jon and Tarly say to let them through, Thorne says to let them die north of the wall. Mallister and Pyke are much the same. I… I've ranged beyond the wall enough to have seen the humanity in the wildlings. The same way Mance did, I think, when he deserted. So...if the Queen wishes for them to settle the Gift, so that she might call upon them as allies...I might be amenable." 

"This is very serious stuff to talk about in small clothes," Jaime said, leveling Stark with a frown.

"I can't believe -- well, truly, I can believe it. Ser Jaime sees taking a vow as a challenge to see what happens when it's broken, rather than anything sacred."

Lacing up his boots, Jaime stood to leave. "I'm off to break my fast with your _bastard son_ , Lord Stark. In case you needed a reminder of how well you uphold your own vows," he said, and though he knew it was untrue and that Stark was truly honouring vows, it felt like the right weapon to wield in that moment. 

"Jaime has nothing to do with me breaking any vows," Benjen said. "That's my own doing. While you're on the wall, you ought to treat the Rangers with more respect, especially one who has protected your children like they were his own." 

Stark looked appropriately chastened. "I spoke out of turn, Benjen," he said, not directing his apology to Jaime.

"My brother is sorry, Jaime. I suppose I'll see you for the vote," he said. 

With that, Jaime slipped out of the room, shutting the door and muffling the sound of the brothers arguing as he tried to act casual on his way up to the hall, where men had gathered, to finally hear the cases and, hopefully, have a new Lord Commander voted in before lunch. 

Benjen and Lord Stark came in a few moments after Jaime found a seat with Jon and Tarly. Ned lingered in the back, and Stannis, his Onion Knight and the strange red priestess joining him. 

Men extolled the virtues of Denys Mallister, his ten winters and his status as a knight, and Cotter Pyke, of Eastwatch, for a long time. It felt like ages, they talked about this winter and that winter and this wildling raid and that ranging. All of it was so dry and unappealing. 

Across the bench, Pyp started to doze off when Janos Slynt stood to speak for Thorne. He spoke of a man with a record of bravery unlike any other brother. A seasoned warrior, a tested Ranger, loyal to his brothers and his duty. 

"Who is this amazing man you speak of? I'd like to vote for him," Jaime joked, unable to stop himself. 

Slynt blustered and Thorne glared as some other recruits risked a tittered laugh. It entirely burst Slynt's bubble, however.

"I suppose you'd like to speak on behalf of Ranger Stark?" Thorne asked rudely. 

"Why? I think Jon probably has a lovely speech prepared," he said, but all of their eyes were on him already, so he stood up. "Ranger Stark should lead us. He is respected. Well-liked."

"Yes, we know exactly how liked Benjen is," an older Ranger hooted. "Half the wall has been liked very much." It was a jest, not meant cruelly, and most chuckled or rolled their eyes.

Gritting his teeth, he ignored it. "Benjen Stark is a tested commander. He led us through the battle with Mance Rayder, he led us through the dark months after Jeor Mormont was murdered --"

"And he'd let the wildlings who killed our brothers through the wall to pillage his brother's lands, at the behest of a woman and a suckling babe who presume to rule," Thorne said, an ugly puce shade. 

Jaime softened his tone, trying to convey his distaste through quiet, the way he'd always known Tywin to. "My lord father always advised that you defeat your enemies, but when they go to their knees, you accept it, and you help them stand again. You end no wars by ignoring the terms your enemy offers. You gain no allies, make no friends, by being inflexible." 

Tyrion grinned from the corner where he had hidden with a book. 

"I think Ranger Stark perhaps understands better than anyone that we cannot survive the coming winter without friends. Alliser Thorne is a capable warrior and an able Ranger, it is true, but would any of you name him your _friend_? Is Alliser Thorne the man you picture at your back when you imagine a fight?" 

There was a murmur of consideration.

"Benjen Stark should lead us. He's a commander who will fight and die by your side, rather than shout orders from on high and never offer his hand when you're in the mud. He knows there are greater threats to our lives than the huddled, freezing masses outside the wall right now, and we should all know it too. We cannot elect a man who doesn't." 

He sat down, mortified by the whole ordeal, and Jon clapped him on the shoulder.

"That's better than what I was going to say," he muttered. 

When the vote came in, Benjen had won handedly. A fair few brothers voted for Alliser Thorne, but it seemed an overwhelming majority preferred Benjen.

"Congratulations, Lord Commander," Jaime said as Benjen walked through the crowd of brothers. He smiled, trying not to consider how this might change things.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double update 'cause i'm feeling dangerous ??? or because i am bored

"How are you feeling today, Maester Aemon?" he heard Jon ask as he came around the Maester's quarters.

"Like a one hundred year old man slowly freezing to death," Aemon joked, in good humor about his mortality.

Jaime flinched. They were aware that they would not have much more time with Aemon. His memory had started to fail and he was abed more than he was up and about in the weeks since the battle. Hearing it put bluntly still hurt.

Jon mumbled something about finding him more blankets and set about fixing up the fire when Jaime knocked and allowed himself in.

"Lannister. Good to hear you," he said.

"I still don't know how you know it's me."

"You have a smell to you. I might mistake you for our Lord Commander these days, if you didn't have such a distinct walk." He chuckled and Jaime pointedly avoided Jon's eye. "If you're looking for your brother, he isn't here."

"I'm looking for you, actually, or Tarly, but I take it he's busy," he said. If he weren't busy, he and Gilly would be here. Aemon loved the baby, and deserved all the time in the world with him.

"What is it you need?"

"You and Samwell tend the rookery. I was wondering if he or you had noticed Janos Slynt sending any ravens lately," he said, trying to sound casual. 

"A few, here and there. Perhaps more than a brother of the watch typically sends, but not an alarming amount. Unless there's been more that Sam hasn't told me about." He laughed, but it faded quickly. "If you have concerns of his loyalty, the Lord Commander should know."

"I don't want to trouble him," he said, dismissive.

"And yet he will  _ always  _ be troubled, Ser. Such is the truth of ruling. If there is foulness afoot at the wall, he needs to know," he repeated in an urgent tone. 

But would he listen? Jaime doubted it. "Thank you, Maester. I'll take my leave. Jon."

Jon nodded, still fiddling with the fire.

As he stomped down the stairs, he bumped into the blue armored woman who guarded Margaery.

"Sorry," he said gruffly, then he stopped. "You're…"

"Brienne of Tarth," she said, her voice low and unsure.

"I'm Jaime. Nice to meet you, Lady Brienne."

"Just Brienne is fine. I'm not much of a lady."

He smirked. "Have you tried wearing a dress? Most find that helps."

"Makes it much worse in my case," she said, clearly unsure if he was jesting, and making an attempt to jest back, in case he was. "I suppose it's nice to make your acquaintance, Kingslayer."

He bristled a little. "How does a woman who wishes to be a knight come into the service of our little queen?"

She blushed, angry on her freckled face. "I went to King's Landing to offer services to Lord Renly. When I arrived, Robert had just died. Renly and I were acquainted from long ago, and he thought I would make a trustworthy guard for his good-sister. Her grandmother agreed. And here I am."

"Here you are indeed. A glorified nursemaid." It was an unfortunate position for an aspiring knight, to be sure. 

"Guarding the  _ King  _ is the job of the Kingsguard. I serve Queen Margaery." She was quite proud of that, judging by the tone of her voice. She had a right to be, he supposed. Loras Tyrell dealt with a screaming babe and Brienne got to spend time with a beautiful and clever woman.

"Which likely has more perks than guarding the king," he jested.

Brienne humored him with half a smile. "She is better company. She knows complete sentences, you know."

Jaime chuckled. King's Landing must have been a different place without Robert. He almost wished he could see it again, and see what the good Queen Margaery was attempting to do to fix the shithole. "I've seen you running drills with the fighting men, you know," he said. "You're quite good."

Really she was an equal to any man who swore their sword to Ned or Stannis. He wondered how he'd fair against her, as rusty as he was. She might beat him into the dirt. 

"You flatter me," she said, sounding completely unflattered.

"I'm an honest man, Brienne," he said. "I never flatter."

  
  
  


"Will Maester Aemon be joining us?" Benjen asked Samwell as they gathered for Benjen's first official acts as Lord Commander. 

"He's not feeling well tonight," Sam said.

Benjen hid his concern. "Very well." He grimaced as he stood to address his brothers. "Brothers, I thank you for your generous patience with us during this tenuous transition of power, and for your acceptance of our guests. Lord Stark intends to march for Winterfell within the week, snow or no snow. We will not have to endure the intrusion of southron knights any longer," he ended with a jest, and a strained half-smile. 

"Now that I'm in command, certain roles will need to be filled. We've lost good men in the past few months, and now is the time for us to rebuild our strength." He turned. "Alliser Thorne."

The pause was ominous as Thorne stared, awaiting his punishment. "I would name you First Ranger. You are one of the most capable men on the wall, and you have proven your loyalty and worth time and time again."

No one had expected that, even Thorne. 

"I would have Ranger Lannister take your duties as Master of Arms for Castle Black. Jon Snow will remain the steward of the Lord Commander, and Samwell Tarly will travel to Oldtown to begin forging his Maester's Chain within the fortnight. There is no worthier successor to Maester Aemon."

He went on to fill more minor roles, and Jaime started to find his attention waning. As the men were dismissed and began to scatter, he found himself beside Jon and Tarly. Benjen approached them.

"I want you to take Gilly with you," Benjen said sternly. "She's not safe here forever. Maybe your mother could use a handmaiden, or a sept needs a new septa. Something to keep her and her babe safe."

Tarly, looking petrified, nodded.

  
  
  


"A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing," he heard Aemon say in his whisper soft, aged voice. He was failing quickly, and Jaime could feel the desperate dread that had taken Castle Black.

He was speaking of Daenerys, but Jaime thought of Jon, sitting at the knee of the Maester, looking lost and lonely. He was still scared for his brother, and even more afraid for his father, venturing out into the coming winter to liberate their home. Aemon understood, and shared his fear for his great-niece, not knowing his own great-nephew sat in awe of him. He wished he could tell Aemon, before he passed, so he knew  _ he  _ hadn't been alone.

It didn't matter. It wasn't his place, and he had more pressing things to handle. 

Jaime was following Slynt into the library, where a man like Slynt didn't belong, to try and find out who he was writing to, or what sort of scheme he was hatching.

His attention was too focused on Aemon, and by the time he turned back to Slynt, the scroll was sealed and stuffed back into his breast pocket.

Gods damn the man. 

"Ser Jaime, what are you doing?" he asked.

"Looking for you. I wanted your opinion on…" Nothing, but he had to make something up. "The practice swords. I'm sure you ran drills with the gold cloaks. I was never one for it, so I thought I would consult you."

Slynt puffed up. "Of course. Stark is a fool for not simply giving the position to me, but I suppose he's allowed his favorites."

The sideways glance made Jaime want to cut his eyes out, but instead he endured the prattling as best he could.

  
  
  


Aemon Targaryen died peacefully in his sleep. The funeral was much the same as the funeral they held after the battle. A great pyre for a great man.

Samwell eulogized him well, keeping composure even as Gilly cried behind him, and Jon hid his face in his gloves. The young felt his passing as keenly as the men who had served with Aemon for decades. The affection for the old Maester was thick in the air.

The blood of the dragon.

"And now his watch is ended," he said, quietly, as the flames took the old Maester from them.

  
  


He spent the night in Benjen's quarters after the funeral. After all of the well-wishes and skeptics and royal pleas. Benjen had spent Aemon's last few days with him, though he didn't specify what they had spoken of, and Jaime didn't pry. Benjen had lost many of the men who brought him up at the wall in the past few years, and he was allowed his grief.

Jaime didn't know how to handle people's grief. He just sort of shut it out and pretended it wasn't happening, like he had with his mother. It was fortunate that Benjen was a Stark, and just as distant from his own feelings as Jaime was, because otherwise he might have found Jaime lacking. 

"Are you ever going to tell Jon the truth?" he asked in the dark. It had troubled him since that evening amongst Aemon's scrolls. 

"It's Ned's truth to tell. He meant to tell him once Jon said the words and he returned from the Capitol...but...I think this word of Daenerys coming has concerned him. I don't know if he will, at least any time soon." 

"If he were smart, he would be preparing the way Margaery is, to try and make alliances with the girl." 

"Wolves have never been particularly successful in making alliances with dragons."

"Nor lions," he said, not sure if he meant the wolf or the dragon. 


	22. Chapter 22

Mance Rayder did not kneel to Queen Margaery, but she did not demand it. Margaery was a shrewd woman, clearly possessing the keen intellect of her grandmother, who Jaime had always found to be a pleasure. 

"We do not kneel," he said.

"I understand," she said. "There is a good chance that this is the only time we'll ever meet, Mance. You come from a different world than I, and who am I to demand things of my world from you?" She held Orys's hand as he stood bleary and bored, stirred from a nap to attend the formalities. "I do not expect you to pledge Southern oaths to me. If Lord Commander Benjen permits you across the wall, I only ask of you as the Queen of these Kingdoms to live peacefully. Once you cross, you will be treated as any other citizen of Westeros. Pillaging and reaving and raping is not our way, and  _ will  _ be punished."

Some of Mance's men behind him muttered and shifted, mutinously. 

"I cannot claim to control every man in my army," he said. "But you have a promise that I will attend to my people the way you attend to yours. If you find me lacking in that way, send your knights and your Lords and do what you will."

"Then as the Protector of the Realm, I grant your passage my blessing. The Gift is open and empty, good land for farming. If your fighting men wish to help against the army of the dead, you may arrange the upkeep of the unused castles on the Wall with the Lord Commander." She clapped her fur-lined hands together and smiled, a true smile of delight on her pretty face. "I am glad we are all reasonable here. There is no more need for death." 

Mance nodded.

"And I hold you to no oaths, but I hope you think of me as your friend, and treat me as such, should we ever need one another," she said.  _ 'If the Targaryen girl proves unreasonable, I hope you'll come to my aid,'  _ she meant. "We part as  _ equals _ ." 

Wildlings versus dragons. Quite a sight that would be.

Mance Rayder turned to Benjen before he returned to his people. "There is a settlement of my people on the other side of the wall still. I would go to them and tell them that you are allowing us through so that they might come. The remaining tribes that scattered when your brother attacked gathered there to decide what to do. I need to tell them I'm alive." 

"I can't let you --"

"They won't believe it if you send Snow or one of your Rangers without me, they'll only believe it if it comes from me," he said. "They'll think you're luring them into a trap."

Benjen looked at Jaime, his eyes troubled. "Ranger Lannister, what would you do?" he asked.

"You're right that we can't let him go beyond the wall," he said. "You're a valuable hostage and vital in overseeing the passage of the Free Folk still gathered. But you're also right that they won't trust it coming from a brother of the watch." 

He thought for a moment. "What about Giantsbane?" he asked.

"What about him?" Benjen shot back.

"What if he went on Mance's behalf? He's valuable, yes, but not the King Beyond the Wall. If he escapes and fucks off somewhere, who cares? But they may trust him enough to talk to him and believe him when he says Mance sent for them." 

Benjen and Mance exchanged glances. "I think it has a better chance of working than you going alone," Mance said to him. "Or sending Lannister. He couldn't convince the Free Folk of anything." 

"Why not?" Jaime asked, dismayed. 

"Too pretty."

They laughed at Jaime's expense, but in the end, decided that a few of them would go to Hardhome, and get the Free Folk there through, before the army of the dead supposedly arrived. 

Snow said his goodbyes to Lord Stark in the courtyard. The children were being left in Benjen's care until Winterfell was reclaimed. The weather was too harsh, it could be a long siege. Jon hugged his father and shook Stannis's hand.

On the same road, Samwell Tarly loaded up a cart, he and Gilly preparing to make their way to Eastwatch and take a ship south. First they would come to Horn Hill, where Sam's mother ruled while Randyll led Mace Tyrell's armies, then he would travel to Oldtown to start forging his chain. 

He thought of the last time he saw Tyrion before he got sent north when he saw Jon say goodbye to his closest friend. 

"Going to lay siege to Winterfell?" he asked Tyrion. 

He smiled his crooked smile and shook his head. "We mean to leave for Eastwatch to head back to White Harbor to wait out the battle," he said. 

Everyone was leaving, Jaime realized. Thorne would have command of the wall while Benjen went to deal with the wildlings. No more Kings or Queens or Lords at the wall. If the wildlings didn't slaughter them on sight, things might be less tense when they got home. 

He walked up to where the Stark children were talking amongst themselves, with a brown haired girl he only faintly recognized as one of Margaery's maids. 

"You're going too, Ser Jaime?" Jeyne asked when he approached.

"It'll only be a few weeks. You'll barely miss me," he said. Truthfully, in the weeks since the battle, he'd only been able to check in with Jeyne Poole and her friends periodically, just enough to make sure they hadn't been harassed by any brothers. He almost missed spending a little time with her. 

The brown-haired girl looked up at him, smiling, and he glanced her way just long enough for his stomach to drop.

_ Myrcella _ .

"I don't think we've met," she said with a nervous smile. "Tyta Hill." 

Tyta Hill. 

"I'm Lord Tyrion's baseborn daughter. He brought me to court with him to help Queen Margaery with the baby." It was a well-practiced lie, but he knew she knew he saw through it. He didn't say anything, instead just nodded. "Well, I'm sorry to have not spoken with you sooner."

"No need to apologise," she said. "I have to go, but I'll see you all soon!" she said to Sansa and Jeyne, hugging them tightly before she bounced off to join Tyrion, Podrick, and the tall, dark hired muscle that Jaime hadn't paid much mind to.

"He brought Myrcella  _ here _ , of all places," Jaime griped.

"He didn't know about Slynt until he got here," Benjen said mildly. 

He froze from where he was pacing. "You say that with such confidence." 

"Well yes, because we discussed it."

Jaime opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again. He repeated the action a few times, truly unable to grapple with what he just heard. Benjen didn't even  _ like _ Tyrion, and yet they were discussing important political matters privately? "You  _ knew  _ she was here the whole time and you didn't tell me?" he asked.

"No. Tyrion thought you couldn't keep a secret well enough," he said. "And I thought it wasn't my place."

"Wasn't your place? You're -- She's my --" He stopped short of admitting it. "She's not safe here."

"And she'll be gone in a few days and she'll be safe in White Harbor. Don't look so offended. We don't tell each other everything." Benjen was tired, and his tone was short and dismissively, and it was surprisingly wounding.

But it was true, and Jaime knew it was, but he couldn't find the will to rearrange his face in a less offended expression. "Slynt has been up to something the entire time he's been here and you  _ refuse  _ to see it. He could have taken her."

Benjen looked up from the map he was reading, an eyebrow arched, and a frown on his face. "So she  _ is  _ your daughter."

"Is it not obvious when you see her next to two of Robert's sons and his brother?" he shot back, rolling his eyes, done with secrecy and shame and all of those things Cersei had ground into him. "I need to prepare for the march to Hardhome." He left, flustered and angry, but mostly at Tyrion and his secrets and his schemes.

As soon as he shut the door he thought about turning around to apologize, but he was distracted by Slynt walking by. 

"Brother Janos, there's nothing this way except the women's quarters. Are you lost, after all this time?" 

Janos raised an eyebrow. "I was looking for Lord Commander Stark," he said. 

"Well he's here, lucky I was here or you would have walked right past his tower," he said, leading him up the stairs as he stammered excuses. He was even too flustered by Jaime's direct action to question why Jaime had been in the Commander's tower so late. 

He opened the door and shoved Slynt through. "Janos had a question for you," he said, not hiding his delight.

"Ah...ah...I was wondering if…" He colored purple as his peabrain struggled for a question. "You know, Lord Commander, I've quite forgotten what I meant to ask you." He turned tail and fled the tower, and Jaime laughed openly before the door even shut.

"I caught him lurking near the ladies' quarters," he explained, tone growing serious.

"I'll have Grenn and Edd keep a watch on the girls while we're gone," Benjen agreed. "Are you done being angry with me?"

"No, but I can think of more productive expressions of it than storming off," he said.


	23. Chapter 23

The snows were gathering strength when the Royal army set off for Winterfell. They left first of all the traveling parties, slow moving and encumbered by men. 

Snow wanted to go with them. 

"You need to go to Hardhome with me," Benjen told him as he miserably reflected on how unfair it was to be away from his brothers any longer. "And be here to protect your sisters, besides."

Jon relented, and looked down the table to where Rickon was feeding Shaggydog scraps while Bran read the newest book that Samwell had given him. Jeyne, "Tyta", and Sansa gossiped about their handsome bodyguard. Grenn took the young girls' attention in stride, politely flushed and leaned over to jest with Pyp and Edd.

Arya was...well. 

He didn't know where Arya was.

"Where's Arya?" he asked Benjen, who looked around and shrugged. 

He felt a little tug of concern. Certainly it was nothing to worry about, of the girls, she was the least valuable hostage and the most likely to stab Slynt. Finishing his lunch, he walked out into the courtyard and heard a shout. He turned down a tight corner and found Arya, breathing heavy and struggling. His heart dropped, until he saw the blue-clad knight swinging her sword in Arya's direction. 

Gendry, Hot Pie and Lommy hooted and hollered as Arya dodged, swinging her skinny little sword at the opening Brienne had left for her.

Jaime sighed in relief, but Arya balked when she saw him.

"You won't tell Benjen, will you?" she asked.

"You know he won't mind," he said. "But it's your secret to tell him." He patted her on the head as she put away her Needle.

"You fight good," he heard Gendry mutter sheepishly to her as they walked back to the mess hall. 

Jaime laughed, and dropped back to see Brienne. "They won't punish you for training them," he told her. "It's good, I think." 

"If the wildlings prove treacherous, they should be prepared," she said in a measured voice, finally comfortable he wasn't going to scold her. "I don't think someone who wants to know how to fight should be stopped on account of their gender." 

"That's quite wise of you," he said. He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole thing, but Brienne had proven herself brave and skilled, and Arya was handy with her little sword. 

"We'll leave at dawn," she said. "It's been nice to meet you, Ser Jaime," she said, sticking out her hand for him to shake. He took it firmly, and held fast.

"You as well," he said, as sincerely as he could muster. "Good luck on the march to White Harbor." 

The Queen and her men left the wall the next dawn, just as Brienne said. The snows swirled and Jaime froze at the gate as he watched the carriage disappear over the horizon. He worried for his brother. Thinking of Jon's quiet desire to go with his father, he felt the same ache for Tyrion. Tyrion was all he had left, anymore. Tywin and Cersei had committed to death, and he could never truly acknowledge Tommen and Myrcella. So it was just him and Tyrion. 

He wished he could have gone with them, but they left for Hardhome next day, and the next few weeks were going to be troubling. 

Once the sun set, and his duties for the night ended, he found himself in the Lord Commander's tower. Things felt different that night, as he slipped inside and into Benjen's arms. Benjen was quiet, not rising to any muttered jests or jabs. They progressed through their usual evening activities slowly. It had been like that since Aemon had died. Quieter, dragging every moment out of it that they could, a muted sort of desperation in every kiss and sigh.

Jaime didn't want it to end, so he didn't point it out. 

So when they ended it, forehead to forehead, breathing heavily and faintly smiling, nothing seemed  _ wrong _ . "The march to Hardhome will be daunting," he said.

"No more than your brother's to Winterfell." 

"You haven't truly gone beyond the wall. Are you prepared?" he asked softly, his lips against Jaime's hair. 

"I think I can handle myself," he said.

" _ More _ than handle yourself," Benjen agreed.

"You haven't gone on a ranging in a long time. Are you…" He couldn't think of a way to conclude his question, just letting it hang in the air.

"I've missed it," he said. "A chance to pretend things haven't changed so much in the past few months."

"Years, even," he said. Gods, had it truly been years?

Benjen looked aggrieved, sitting up and turning his back on Jaime, running a hand through his hair, distracted.

"What's the matter?" 

"Jaime, we can't… We have to stop doing this," he said. 

Jaime froze halfway through sitting up, frozen awkwardly propped on his elbow, staring at the back of Benjen's head. "What?"

"It needs to end."

"Is this about what your brother said --" he started, trying to find some reason. Some logic behind this sudden shift. He didn't even know how to respond.

"It's not," he said. "It's… it's been troubling me since I was elected. I can't lead these men and expect them to honor vows that I shirk," he said.

He was serious, he realized with a cold shock. He rolled out of the bed and grabbed for his clothes, suddenly repulsed by the feeling of the furs. He dressed hastily, standing in front of Benjen and trying to think of what to say.

_ Everyone did this _ , he thought. Everyone was always willing to divest themselves of him when it didn't benefit them any longer. He never thought someone so noble as a Stark could be so cruel. "So suddenly you're just… it's duty. All of these oaths and vows, they don't mean anything until all of a sudden they do," he ranted. 

Benjen stared at his feet. 

"Send me to Eastwatch. I'll leave tonight and catch up with the Queen. Send me to Shadowtower." He was demanding, but he felt like he was pleading. "If you want to be rid of me, be rid of me. I'll rebuild Greyguard with my bare hands. I don't want to be --"  _ Near you? Without you?  _

"I don't --" He still refused to look at him. "I can't send you anywhere, you have to stay at Castle Black."

"Why? In case your duty starts to be inconvenient again?"

The truth seemed far more poisonous than all of that. "I swore to Ned when you were sent here that you would stay in my sight."

Jaime bit back every foul word and cruel thought that passed through his mind. All of these secrets, all from him. "You still don't trust me not to leave?" 

"I made a promise." It didn't answer the question.

"I nearly  _ died _ for this place. I didn't do it because I had a warm mouth waiting for me." Tyrion would smuggle him out, he knew that. But was it even worth it?

Benjen grimaced. " _ I _ know that. But you have to stay. I gave my word to the Warden of the North." 

"And what? Watch you take up with some other fool when you decide you're bored of your duty and your honor again?" It was meant to wound, and judging by the angry dark eyes that found Jaime's, he succeeded. "You told me what you were and weren't capable of months ago and I didn't listen, so I suppose this is my fault." Everyone he'd ever loved had looked him in the face and made it clear there were conditions on it, so he truly should be used to it by now.

Benjen stood, bristling with indignity. "It's nothing like that. I have to do my duty to the Watch. I never meant for this to --" 

"To matter?" 

He couldn't deny that's what he'd meant, so he said nothing. "To go so far."

"Your brother and Lord Stannis and all the rest might judge me an oathbreaker, but at least I don't pretend I'm not one. You're all the same. You break your vows and shirk your duty in the dark and then play at honour and loyalty in the light." He had his hand on the door, but couldn't bring himself to leave yet.  _ Just take it back _ , he thought.  _ We can take it back, can't we? _

"You're right. I acted dishonorably. I shouldn't have put you in a position to break your vows. I'm sorry, Jaime."

"No you're not. Don't say -- you're not doing this for  _ me _ . You're the same as Cersei. As soon as your position is threatened, I'm tossed to the side. It's always the same in the game of --" He didn't finish his thought, his half-meant snarl cut off by Benjen shoving him against the door, finally looking as angry as Jaime felt.

"That's not what I'm doing and you know it," he said. "They'll take  _ your head _ for this. Thorne is angry about not being elected and he'll find a way to ruin  _ you  _ for it. Because that's how he can hurt me."

Jaime blinked. "I don't care. He can hang me. It doesn't matter."

Letting go of his shoulder, Benjen stepped back and took a deep breath, trying to force the image of calm. "'Love is the death of duty'," he said. 

"I -- what?"

"Aemon said it before he died. It was one of the last lucid moments we had. He was warning me of what it meant to put the people I love before my oaths. Jon, Ned, you." They had never acknowledged it. It had hung quietly in the air for months, but now it had been given form, and it was too late. "I tried to forget it and just let things be like they were, but… The cost is too high. We can't keep gambling. Too many people here depend on both of us."

He finally found the strength to open the door, his head swimming. He thought of half a hundred things he could say. Angry japes, romantic pleads, everything in between. He settled on saying nothing, returning to his bunk and staring at the ceiling until dawn broke, and the march was set to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jaime, crying in the shower: EVERYBODY HUUUUUUURTS, SOMETIIIIIIIIMES


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i definitely glossed over Hardhome just because ...I mean we know what happens, and better writers than me (*cough*[merrymegtargaryen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894483/chapters/52163896)*cough*) have already done reimaginings of Hardhome super beautifully, so I felt like just getting it over with was the best path. Anyway. The pre-arrival banter is really what we needed. Because it's glorious, though not very healing after that breakup.

"You don't have to come," Benjen said in a low voice as he packed. 

Jaime ignored him, turning to accept another bundle of rations from Pyp as he checked the compartments of his pack. They would make haste for Eastwatch. The departing Stark and Baratheon militaries had left a few ships to bolster what Eastwatch had, and the ships would sail for Hardhome. They would load up whatever Free Folk they could convince, and sail back to Eastwatch and see them through the Wall. 

"You have command," Benjen told Thorne, relenting on getting Jaime to speak to him. 

The ride to Eastwatch would be easy to ignore him. The sailing would be harder, but they were in good company. Tormund Giantsbane and the red-headed archer girl were their envoys. They had been kept captive until that moment, and were enjoying their time out of chains. Tormund was a loud, wildly boisterous fellow

Mance Rayder waited at the wall, ready to signal for his people to cross as soon as Benjen returned. 

Jeyne and the Stark children saw them off, flanked by their protectors. 

"Be safe," Jeyne said, hugging him.

His throat tightened as he returned her embrace. He hadn't gotten to hug Myrcella goodbye, but at least he got this. "We'll be alright." Leaning down to speak in her ear, he whispered; "be safe. Don't trust Slynt or Thorne, no matter what they say to you." As subtly as he could, he slipped a dagger into her hands, kissing her on the forehead.

She regarded him with fearful eyes but nodded, slipping the blade into her cloak. He ruffled Bran's hair and gave Nymeria and scratch before he mounted his horse and followed Benjen and Jon out of the gates.

Eastwatch had no news, save for a few more reports of dead men attacking.

The four ships they were taking were old things, but in sturdy repair. Jaime had never enjoyed sailing, but he managed to keep his meals in his stomach at least.

"So, Kingkiller, you're fucking Stark?" Giantsbane asked on the second night aboard the ships.

Jon choked on his ale and Jaime tried to arrange his face in an appropriately shocked expression. " _ No _ ," he said, because it was the truth, however miserable that truth was.

Tormund looked sympathetic, reaching over and slapping him on the shoulder in what was meant to be a kind gesture. "Ack, I understand. Stark's married to the wall. No one else will ever hold his loyalty," he said, stroking his great red beard and chuckling. 

" _ Giantsbane _ ," Benjen said, his tone a warning. 

He did have a point. "So I take it you've fucked Stark?" Jaime asked, as he ascertained the nature of this conversation.

Jon was choking. "Jaime!" he protested, the same time the wildling lass yelped "Tormund!" 

"What, you thought you were the only one with the taste for Crow in this family?" Tormund asked her, tossing his head back to laugh, never saying one way or the other if he were only kidding.

Benjen hid his face in his hands. "Shut up, all of you."

Jon excused himself, as it was unlikely he'd survive another shocking revelation about Benjen's past conquests. Ygritte followed, red-faced and laughing.

Jaime sized up Tormund; good looking in a way, under the wild hair and mischievous expression. Certainly burlier than Jaime could ever hope to be. Maybe that's what Benjen had always liked.

He didn't let his thoughts wander to the possibilities. Benjen had admitted to loving him, hadn't he? That meant it was Benjen's failing, rather than his own, that got them into this cold stalemate.

But still, he could put on a grin and make a jape. 

"Now that I've met you, I see why he set me aside. Clearly, I'm not his usual type," he joked as he left to find something productive on the ship to do.

He brushed past Jon and Ygritte as they bickered on the stairs. He'd figured out fairly quickly that they had been lovers. This entire ship was full of ex-lovers trying to avoid one another.  _ Great _ .

Really the sleep was the hardest. He had taken for granted how much he enjoyed stealing off to Benjen's quarters for a few hours, or falling asleep pressed into his back. When he'd been in the capitol, with Cersei, he'd never had the luxury. She threw him out as soon as she rightfully could, and only came to him occasionally, and usually it was because he was growing dissatisfied and she wanted to placate him.

It didn't matter. It wasn't a long trip to Hardhome. 

"Jaime?" a soft voice at the door called. 

"I'm sleeping," he lied, as the door opened and Benjen leaned in the doorway.

"I'm sorry for Tormund."

"You shouldn't be. Is his cock really as big as the stories say?" he asked.

Benjen scowled. "Jape all you want," he grumbled, shutting the door. Jaime heard his heavy footfall down the hallway.

He didn't know what he'd presumed to have wanted, but he wasn't going to give him anything anymore. If he was so easily set aside, well, he'd harden his heart just as much. 

Hardhome was encircled by a wall on the land side and a port on the other. The little boats they set out into the bay with felt crowded. 

"Do you think they'll listen?" Jon asked uneasily. 

"We're coming right from Mance," Ygritte said.

Tormund nodded, but he didn't look as confident as he usually did. "Some of them feel Mance was defeated at the Wall, even though he got what he said he was gonna. The Free Folk only respect strength. Do not expect them to listen to some southern knight who's only special for who his daddy is."

He felt Ygritte look at him specifically. Strength. He was the strongest man he knew. He could handle a few wildlings waving sticks at him.

"I feel like a fool," Benjen said.

"We're both fools," Tormund agreed.

They were greeted by a woman dressed in heavy furs. "Good to see you, Tormund," she said, her pale eyes sliding over her company.

"We'd heard you'd been taken captive," a man in a suit of bones called. "You come here to plead for us to waltz into chains as well?"

Tormund scowled. "Rattleshirt. Gather the elders so we can talk," he said, as a small group of wildlings encircled them. 

"We aren't doing any talking with Benjen Stark and his bastard crow," he said. "Do you take turns sucking their cocks or is it both at the same time?" he mocked.

Jaime knew what had to happen for the rest of them to listen. Tormund growled a curse but he shoved ahead of him. "He asked you to gather the elders," he said.

"Oh here's a pretty man," Rattleshirt said. "Don't presume you can give me orders, Queen Crow." 

Jaime was  _ so  _ tired of being called pretty. It didn't take much to snatch the staff Rattleshirt carried out of his hands, and he allowed all of the pent up frustration and rage to take over as he hit the man. Two hits stunned him and half a dozen more killed him. The final splatter of blood arced over them as he threw the stick down and wiped blood from his face. It had been a long time since he had killed a man, and he always felt a disturbing, fleeting bit of satisfaction. 

"Gather the elders," Tormund said again, sliding an impressed look at Jaime. 

"You said they only respect strength," he pointed out.

"You're full of surprises, Kingkiller," he said. 

The Elders gathered; a giant, a bald headed Thenn, and the woman, Karsi, and a few men that must have been old by wildling standards. 

"Mance Rayder is at Castle Black, waiting to lead the rest of your people through the wall. He sent us to bring you to Eastwatch and allow you through," Benjen said. "You don't trust me, I don't trust you. I know that. But this isn't about trust." 

"You're going to round us up and slaughter us," the Thenn said, roughly. 

Benjen ignored him. "There are lands to farm, castles on the wall that need to be rebuilt if we can even think to survive when the dead come for us. Queen Margaery has made a deal with Mance. You swear no oaths, you do not kneel.  _ You survive _ . That's what matters. Winter is coming, and I cannot have it on my conscience to leave people to die north of the wall when it does."

An older man leaned and whispered to Karsi. She nodded and kept quiet. The Thenn talked a lot, but she was the true authority in that tent. "Our scouts say the dead are close," she said.

"You need to leave," Tormund said urgently. "Mance and I saw the trail of death the army of the dead left. You'll all be part of it. Man, woman, child." 

"My ancestors would curse me for making alliances with a Crow," the Thenn said, spitting at Benjen's feet.

"So would mine," Karsi said. "But fuck 'em, they're dead." 

Jon stepped up, holding a bag. "These are dragonglass weapons. Daggers, arrowheads, speartips. There are places in Westeros where we can mine this and make enough weapons for an entire army. My brother killed a White Walker with this. The wights die by fire, and the Walkers by dragonglass."

"Tormund," the giant rumbled, speaking in a language Jaime didn't understand.

Tormund nodded to the giant. "He might be prettier than my daughters -" Ygritte made an offended huff. "But he's a good warrior. I trust these Crows, and these Crows  _ alone _ ," he said. "But Stark is right. This is about survival, not trust. Come with us and survive, or stay here and become meat for the Night King."

The giant nodded his agreement. 

A few heated words followed, Jaime didn't pay them much mind. Something in the air felt wrong as the Thenn and his men stormed out.

"I fucking hate Thenns," Karsi said, standing up. She looked over at Tormund, her eyes fond. "I trust you, Tormund. I will gather my people." Not everyone could be convinced, even as hard as Ygritte, Tormund and Karsi tried. The dogs barked and bayed as the little boats were loaded and sent to the ships. Slowly, Hardhome emptied. But it wasn't  _ everyone _ .

"There's no way to get them all," Jon said, sadly. 

He watched Karsi load two little girls on a boat, one the double of her, and one who simply looked like a miniature of Ygritte. Jaime saw why she trusted Tormund, now. She should be on the boats with them. 

"Go with them," Ygritte said, echoing his own thoughts. "I can get the others, you stay with my girls." She was petting the younger one's hair fondly, like a big sister would. 

Karsi looked ready to argue, but seemed to think better of it, and instead she hugged Ygritte. "Don't let these men get you killed," she said, settling into the boat with her girls hugged to her sides. 

Jaime sighed a little sigh of relief, though he didn't know what he was so afraid of, until the dogs all fell silent. Something scratched and clattered at the heavy wooden gates and the snow thickened all of a sudden. 

"They're here," Tormund said. "If they get through that gate, everyone in this place will die." 

Benjen nodded. 

"We have to hold the gate!" the wildling bellowed, and the giant and as many of the fighting men and women as he could muster pushed towards the gate, ready to hold the line again whatever waited on the other side. 

What followed was chaos. Jaime had been in battles, but this was something else. Dead men punched through the gate as they pushed heavy beams against it, reinforcing it however they could, just to buy the Free Folk whatever time was possible. 

It didn't take long for the dead to break through. Over and through the walls, they were awash in a flurry of bodies, flesh barely clinging to the blackened and exposed bones. 

"Where's Jon?" Benjen called. There was nothing to do but retreat. He didn't know how many skeletons he slashed or how many skulls he crushed under his boots. He didn't even know how long this slaughter was taking. As he backed towards the boats, he saw them on high. Astride dead horses, flanking an ice blue man with pale blue eyes.

The Night King.

White Walkers.

It was all real. 

Jon was behind them, one of the White Walkers meeting his sword blows. They were to the dock, but Benjen remained.

"We can't wait any longer," the brother in black urged. 

Jon brought his sword up and the White Walker shattered into a thousand icy shards. He bolted for the shore, the dead grabbing his ankles and trying to pull him down. He only barely made it before the jumpy oarsman started rowing harder than any man could, when not spooked by literal death.

Jaime wondered why he had been so skeptical when Tarly had told him of the dead. Edd and Grenn and Tarly and Gilly had all told them, and Jaime hadn't fully believed it. Now that he saw the horned King standing there, he couldn't believe there'd ever been a time when he hadn't known his enemy. This was what they were meant to fight. The wall hadn't been built to keep out wildlings, it had been built to keep out  _ this _ . 

The Night King raised his arm, and every corpse they had just made, hundreds of bodies began to stir and rise, blue eyes glowing in the snow as they made their retreat. 

They were  _ fucked _ .


	25. Chapter 25

He thought about going to Benjen's cabin every night they were on the sea on the return journey to Eastwatch. His mind was racing, the image of the dead burnt into his eyelids. He couldn't sleep. But it would be too weak to plead for the attention of someone who had rejected him.

Instead he found whatever ale he could and drank, sequestering himself. He was fairly drunk when they landed at the port, staying at the head of the party as they walked up to the gates of the Wall, Benjen waving the torch to signal to open the gates. 

It felt like ages before the gate finally open, and Cotter Pyke rode to meet them, looking wary of the gathered masses. 

"Welcome back, Lord Commander," he said. 

Tormund agreed to lead the settlement of the wildlings, and as humorous of a fellow as he was, Jaime wasn't too sad to see the back of him. He knew it was irrational, but the jealousy burned deep in him, only doused by a healthy layer of ale and wine. 

They slept a few days at Eastwatch. Benjen acting as the Commander; visiting with the men, explaining what had happened at Hardhome, and listening to grievances about the wildlings' presence in the north. 

Jaime hid. 

It wasn't his most dignified showing, it was true, but until he needed to be on his horse, he could lie there and sulk. 

_ Let the Others take me, _ he thought when the white winter sun hit his eyes, the dawn they were meant to leave. His head pounded and his mouth felt permanently dry. How did Tyrion drink like he did? 

"I could command you to talk to me," Benjen said when he nudged his horse up next to Jaime's. "I  _ am _ your Commander." 

"You don't need me to talk to you in order to give me commands," he said flatly. Hungover and stinking of death had put him in an even worse mood than he might have been in normally. 

Benjen grimaced. "I'm sorry it has to be this way." 

The sentiment made Jaime roll his eyes and urge his horse forward.  _ Sorry  _ didn't change anything, it never had. That's why he avoided apologizing all together. People should learn from him.

Castle Black was a blessed sight. Not just for the presence of Jeyne Poole and Sansa Stark, who greeted him with excited embraces, but for the separation it allowed him from Benjen and Jon. They immediately set to work opening the gates and overseeing the passage of the Free Folk left on the other side, Mance cooperating graciously with them. 

When he went inside to the mess hall and found Tyrion sitting there, a book in his lap, he startled. 

"You were supposed to be in White Harbor." 

"Our travel arrangements were...complicated by the storm. We returned the evening you left for Hardhome. Never even made it to Eastwatch." 

The snow has been fierce that span of a few days. A traveling party of five could manage, but an entire royal retinue with a baby among them, he could imagine the trouble. Sitting with Tyrion was his cutthroat, Bronn, and Myrcella and Podrick. 

"You look miserable and disgusting," Tyrion said mildly as he sat down. "What did you find on your heroic quest?" 

"White Walkers don't like Valyrian steel," he mustered through a piece of hard bread soaked in Hot Pie's nightly stew. He ate and sat in comfortable silence with his brother's motley little family. Queen Margaery and King Orys were nowhere to be found, as one would expect, and he didn't see Brienne either. He saw the Onion Knight and the Red Woman alone in the corner, muttering to each other. He never got the particular impression that they cared for each other. He didn't think he'd even seen the Red Woman out of Stannis's sight before now. He guessed that they had opted to stay behind instead of march to Winterfell. 

"Interesting. Unfortunate that there isn't more of that in the world, then," Tyrion said. 

"Truly. And that all of the dragonglass in Westeros is unmined underneath Dragonstone." 

"Luckily Stannis will be willing to see it mined out."

"If we survive long enough for it to matter," he said, feeling morose. "Wine?" 

Tyrion passed him a goblet. "You know, in these apocalyptic circumstances, I thought perhaps you'd be by your Commander's side," he said in a measured voice.

"Well, I have more pressing matters to attend to than the whims of Lord Commander Stark," he said. 

"Like what?" 

"Wine." 

  
  
  


He found a few blissful days of being miserably useless. The world was ending, no one loved him, and winter was coming. 

Gods, everything had to remind him of Stark, didn't it? 

He, Bronn and Tyrion were playing a drinking game. It involved making guesses and drinking. He and Tyrion had limited the amount they were allowed to use each other for easy wins, at Bronn's insistence. 

"You fuckers have known each other all your goddamn lives, unfair advantage." 

So they played and drank. 

"You and Benjen Stark --" Tyrion started, not even finishing the question before Jaime drank. "I knew it! How did that happen?"

"Let's not get into it," he muttered. He looked at Bronn. "You -- your father beat you."

"But mum hit harder," he crowed before he drank. He turned his attention to Tyrion. "Married?" Jaime was about to caution Bronn against his question -- about Tyrion's marital status, a subject that he avoided thinking about whenever possible -- when the door swung open and Podrick and Arya burst in, breathless. 

"Ser Jaime!" she shouted. "Sansa and Jeyne -- they're gone!"

"Gone?" he asked, sobering up almost immediately. The feeling in the room shifted as Bronn reached for his abandoned dagger and Tyrion stood up off the bed, looking confused. "What do you mean --" 

"They were in their quarters when I left to go --" she dragged her foot across the floor nervously. "I was training with Brienne and Podrick and when I came back, Sansa and Jeyne and My -- Tyta were gone!"

Gods, Myrcella was gone too? What in the fuck was happening? "Was Lady not with them?" 

"Hunting beyond the wall with Shaggy and Summer and Ghost," Arya muttered, looking mortified. 

Jaime grabbed his boots. 

"It's all my fault!"

"We don't even know what happened," Jaime told her, though he knew exactly what had happened, and all he needed was proof. "They might have gone to sit with Queen Margaery." 

He stormed down to where Edd was keeping "Watch" at the front gate. "Edd, gather the men. All of them. Now," he barked up. He looked to Tyrion and Bronn. "Go gather all of the Queen's people. I don't care of Orys is at the breast, they all need to be out here." 

"Are you giving orders, Lannister?" Thorne sneered from behind him. 

"If you want to repeat what I've said so you feel powerful, feel free. The Ladies Sansa, Jeyne, and Margaery's little handmaid are missing. Certainly you don't want to imagine what would happen to you if the Warden of the North's daughter turned up missing under your watch?" he asked with an ugly curl of his lips. 

Edd walked out of the barracks with a herd of sleepy men. Grenn and Pyp came out of the lift from their watch atop the wall. They took the night watches while the girls were asleep, trusting the direwolves to guard for them. 

Tonight hadn't been a good night for it, but he had a hard time blaming anyone. 

Except…

"Where is Brother Slynt, Ranger Thorne?" 

Thorne looked around, concern growing behind his pale eyes. "I don't know." 

"Did you see him this evening?" 

"At supper. Unlike other Commanders, I don't keep  _ such _ a close watch upon my Rangers," he said with the arch of an eyebrow. 

"Spare us your japes, Thorne. If Slynt deserted the wall to take valuable hostages to the Lannisters, he's forfeit his life. We need to find the girls before they're buried in the snow or delivered to Roose Bolton. Ned Stark will have all our heads if his daughter dies." 

" _ I'll  _ have your head if a hand is laid on my sister or her friends," Jon Snow said, storming up to the Commander. "I'm going to go find her." 

"No," Thorne said. "Ranger Lannister has volunteered. He'll go."

Jon nearly protested, but Jaime put a hand on his shoulder. "Unfortunately, he's right. I'll go. You need to watch your siblings." That's what Benjen would have done, right? Keep the children together and taken responsibility. He had taken responsibility for Jeyne when she'd been poorly playing at a boy, and he'd never stopped.

"Let me come."

"No."

"Jaime, please." But it wasn't any use, Jon obviously knew Jaime's mind was made up.

"I'm going with you, Lannister," Bronn said. "Tyta is Tyrion's responsibility, but he ain't much of a tracker."

Jaime could tell that underneath the sarcasm, he was actually rankling at the girls being taken. He had seen Bronn interacting with them, and they were the only people who he seemed to treat with any real kindness.

"Allow me to help as well," Brienne said.

"I give Brienne my leave to join you, if you'll have us," Queen Margaery said. She hadn't said much, but it was the first time he'd seen her that he didn't feel like her expression was calculated. Her eyes were wide with concern as she clutched her babe to her chest. "Please let the throne help." 

"It's my fault. If I hadn't taken Arya away, she would have been able to stop him." 

"That doesn't make it your fault," he said dismissively. "He was waiting for a night when the wolves were out of the room, and Arya is too loud and fierce. The girls would go without a fight except her." He could imagine it. Slynt would threaten Arya or the boys and Sansa would go without a fight, and Jeyne wouldn't leave her side. 

And if Slynt knew it was Myrcella under that colored hair...

"We'll follow the Kingsroad to the Dreadfort, and track from there. Slynt isn't of the north, he won't be far off the roads in this weather," he said.

Jon nodded, still looking mutinous. 

"Keep an eye on Thorne." 

He nodded.

Jaime turned to Grenn as he left to saddle a horse. "If anything else happens, ride hard for the Lord Commander and Mance Rayder."

Grenn looked alarmed, but said nothing.

Brienne and Bronn followed him to the stables, and they prepared for their trek. 


	26. Chapter 26

  
"We can't go any further in this darkness," Brienne said, two hours into their ride. "We should start again at dawn." 

Wiping snow from his face, he loathed to agree, but he did. They built a fire where the could find dry ground, circling their bedrolls around them. Jaime couldn't stop thinking about what could be happening to the girls. Hadn't they already lived through enough? They had to get clumsily kidnapped by some oaf now, too? 

"You're _sure_ he'll take them to the Dreadfort?" Brienne asked. "And not try to make the trip to Casterly Rock?" 

"He would run right into Stark or Baratheon men if he dared venture further south than the Dreadfort," Jaime said, forcing some confidence into his voice. "He knows the Boltons will be crushed by Ned Stark, and then any men they have in the south will be swiftly done away with by Stannis, if the snow lets up. Taking them to the Dreadfort is the only way he'll get rewarded." 

Rewarded with a knife to the back, but rewarded nonetheless. 

"What the fuck could he gain by kidnapping three little girls?" Bronn scoffed.

"A royal pardon, likely what he wants. Some men still believe Cersei is the rightful Queen, and that Margaery stole her throne when the divorce was illegitimate the whole time. Nevermind that a king can set aside a queen whenever he pleases." And nevermind that Cersei was guilty of everything she'd been accused of and more. 

"And you think Bolton promised him that?" Brienne asked, warming a tin of beans over the fire.

"I think it's more likely that Cersei did," he said. 

A cold horror washed over him. Could Cersei be waiting at the Dreadfort? 

He thought about seeing her again, and it only pulled him further into the darkness that surrounded his mind. Was she waiting there, excited to see her daughter again? Maybe she would simply trade Sansa and Jeyne for safe passage to Volantis and access to Tommen. 

Cursing his own wistful naivete, Jaime settled down to sleep. He could fuck up the trail, let Slynt get to the Dreadfort, ditch his traveling companions, and go with Cersei. Roose Bolton was, by all accounts, at Moat Cailin, trying to fortify against Stannis with his paltry forces. If Cersei were at the Dreadfort, he could… 

No. He _couldn't_. He needed to get the girls back to Castle Black so that when Ned Stark sent for them, they would be there. Cersei was not a woman of great mercy to her enemies, and she would see Sansa and Jeyne as just that. 

  
At dawn, they resumed their ride. 

"Do you think this is the Last River?" Brienne asked at nightfall. "Have we made it nearly to Last Hearth?" 

Jaime had no sense of time or place, but a full day of riding, eating rations in their saddles and not stopping, it did seem likely. "I think so. Slynt won't venture off the road until well past Umber lands," he predicted. "He's just a little ahead of us." They had found tracks through the day. Two horses, heading south. Tomorrow they would veer east into Bolton territory, and their hope for finding them would plummet. 

As he settled down, struggling with a fire as every bit of wood he found had grown increasingly wet from the steady drift of light snow. Eventually they got a struggling, sputtering fire together. 

"So, the Poole girl," Bronn ventured. "You're close?" 

Jaime didn't know how to answer that. She was the same age as the daughter he'd never been allowed to have? She saw good in him that he didn't see in himself? 

"I helped her a long time ago," he said. "And it was the first honorable thing I'd done in years. She's a sweet girl." 

It felt pathetic, but to his shock Bronn just nodded. "Aye, can't say I'll be too disappointed to see Slynt in the noose. Don't have much respect for men who torment little girls." 

Bronn didn't have much respect for anyone, truly, but that was still a strong condemnation from him. 

"It's dishonorable. A brother of the watch conspiring with a traitor to the crown," Brienne said. 

"We don't involve ourselves in the squabbles of the realm." 

"But don't you protect the realms of men?" she asked. "Isn't that in your words?" 

Jaime had never really thought about it like that. For a group of men sworn to guard the realms of men, they spent a lot of time huddled upon a wall, their eyes cast over one realm, their backs turned to another. 

"I don't decide what we concern ourselves with, I just follow the orders given to me," he said uncomfortably. 

As silence fell around their camp, Jaime became more aware of the noises around them. The drift of the snow on leaves, the light breeze of the wind, and just off the road the stumbling crunch of leaves and the murmur of voices.

"Do you hear that?" he asked Bronn quietly.

Bronn listened. "Aye."

"Let's go. Quietly."

"Could just be travelers taking refuge off the road. Some of the Free Folk?" Brienne asked, uneasily, as she put her sword belt back on and followed their lead. She had a hard time being stealthy at her size, but she managed. 

They came to a clearing in the trees, just away from the frozen over river, and saw Slynt standing over a dying fire, poking it with a stick. 

Bronn gestured for silence, carefully pulling out his dagger and pointing with it. The girls were bound hand and foot, awkwardly sat against the trunk of a large tree. Within arm's reach of Janos. If they didn't move quickly, he could grab one of them and --

He straightened up when he noticed the ropes on Jeyne's hands go slack. 

She still had the dagger.

"We're meant to bring Brother Slynt in alive," Brienne cautioned.

Jaime had no intention of such mercy, but he nodded. "Then best let me do the talking. Don't reveal yourself until I signal," he said, straightening up and carefully walking into the clearly, slowly, as not to startle anyone. "Janos," he said, clearing his throat. 

Janos looked up with wide eyes, immediately reaching for his sword. 

"No need for all that," he said, raising his hands.

"Stark sent you to kill me," he said, but his hand hesitated at the hilt. 

"I sent myself," he lied. "Stark isn't even at the wall." His eyes were fixed over Slynt's shoulder, where Jeyne was slowly standing up, free from her containment. She cut the ropes on Sansa's ankles and shushed Myrcella as she freed her as well. 

"Don't try and trick me," he said. "You aren't here to help me." 

"You're taking the girls to Cersei, aren't you?" he asked. "Why wouldn't I help you?" 

Because you're a cowardly, easily bought pawn. A fool who will be thrown in the shivering sea before your body is cold. 

"You're loyal to Stark. To the Wall." 

Jaime raised an eyebrow. "You're very optimistic about how honorable I am," he said mildly. 

Janos was relaxing his sword hand. "Tell me true. You came to help me?"

"You won't survive the trip to the Dreadfort. You aren't a tracker. I'm here to make sure your hostages don't die in these snows." That much, at least, was true. And the hostages were done waiting. Jeyne jumped at Slynt, the dagger awkwardly slashing down his shoulder.

Jaime turned to signal to Brienne and Bronn as Janos brought a reflexive elbow to Jeyne's head and drew his sword. Jaime was quicker, though, and met his steel with ease. "Get the girls," he told them, and Brienne grabbed Jeyne, pulling her away from the fight, as Bronn went and helped Sansa and Myrcella to their feet. 

Janos wasn't much of a fighter. He slipped on a wet log and fell onto his back, his leg cracking at an unfathomable angle. Groaning in pain, he brought his hands up as a paltry shield. 

"We're bringing him back alive, Ser Jaime," Brienne warned. 

"Don't kill me. I'll tell you everything --" he stammered.

"I already know everything," he said. "You sold the North's secrets to my father since the day you arrived. I'm no fool. I've known the whole time." 

"And you never told anyone. Because you're loyal to your family, just like I am. But that's not the half of it. I took the girls because --" 

"Cersei sent for them." 

"Because he let me." 

"Who let you?" 

Janos didn't say anything, his eyes still on the sword Jaime had aimed at him. He expected him to lower it, to let him live in exchange for the answers. Instead he drove it into his cowardly middle and up. There was no use.

" _Thorne_ \--" he gasped out with his last breath, as if that would undo the death. 

Jaime looked up at Brienne and Bronn, shrugging. "He was going to die. I'll face Benjen's wrath for taking that kill from him. It doesn't matter."

Jeyne ran over to hug him, a bruise on her face from her heroics. "Jaime! Are you hurt?" 

"I'm fine. Are you?" 

"I'm fine." 

"I'm sorry I wasn't very good with your dagger," she said sheepishly, holding it out to him.

"It's for the best. But if you ever need to kill a man, with something like this you should always go for the throat," he said, pushing it back to her. "Hold onto it. We need to get back to the Wall," he said, looking at his companions. "Thorne is up to something, and I don't want him to have enough time to enact it." 

They camped for the night and left at dawn. With Slynt's horses, they were able to make good time back, arriving two mornings later. The air inside Castle Black was tense. None of the men were out. It didn't seem anyone was doing their watches. 

Jaime stayed in front of his traveling party. "Brienne. See the girls to Bran and Rickon's room. Do not let them leave your sight. Bronn." He thought about it. "Go with her." 

Where was Thorne? Had he taken the men somewhere? To the Gift? 

Where were Jon and his friends? 

"Ranger Lannister, you've returned," Alliser said from above him. Something in his face looked...twisted...and cold. Colder than usual. Whatever he was planning, he'd already done. "As you can see, several of our men have chosen to abandon the wall. I hope you don't mean to prove treacherous as well," he said. Bowen Marsh stood at his right hand, looking aggrieved.

"Just going to the stable to put away the horses Slynt stole."

"Where is Brother Janos, by the way? You were asked to bring him back alive." 

"Well, I killed him instead. You understand." 

Even outnumbered, Thorne didn't want to start a fight with Jaime, and he could see that in his beady, deceitful eyes. He led the horses to the stables, well away from the castle, before he could breathe easily again. 

What in the hell had happened here?

"Jaime," someone hissed, and he startled at the sight of Bran, crouched near the top of the stables. The boy loved to climb, though he rarely did within the castle, to avoid his uncle's scolding. 

"Bran, what are you doing --" 

"Jaime, Ser Alliser. He…" Bran sniffled. "He killed Jon." 


	27. Chapter 27

Jon Snow was _dead_. Truly. Laying on a table with holes in his chest. This wasn't right. Rhaegar's son shouldn't die like this, he thought. He was meant to be more. 

"When did this happen?" he asked, his hand on Jon's cold shoulder. 

"Last night. They'd been keeping us all locked up, said it wasn't safe after what happened to the girls," Bran said, wiping away tears. "Jon was visiting with us and one of them came to tell him that Uncle Benjen needed his...needed him in the courtyard. I followed, because I missed Benjen, but I hid because Jon wanted me to go to sleep. I saw it all. They stabbed him." He buried his face in Arya's shoulder.

She looked like every bit of joy in the world had been taken from her as she stared at her brother. 

"Ser Davos managed to hold down this side of the Castle, to keep Thorne and his men out, and to keep Jon's body safe. He says...he says there's something they can do," Arya said, cold fury in every syllable. "He won't let us out. I want to kill Thorne!" 

Ser Davos had it right. 

"You need to protect Bran and Rickon," he told her. "Where are the wolves?"

"Still hunting beyond the wall. They got a deer last night, but Nymeria...I...dreamed something was wrong. They won't open the gate to let them back in."

"Where are Jon's friends? Edd? And Grenn? Pyp?" Not dead, not dead. Please. 

"Grenn rode to get Benjen like you told him to. Edd and Pyp are in the other room with the Queen. They're scared he's going to go after them, too." 

Thorne was unlikely to. But that was … it didn't matter. He wasn't loyal to the Lannisters. He spat on their legacy, still a Targaryen loyalist twenty years after the Rebellion. He was loyal to the Watch, and Jon had betrayed it, in his mind. So had Benjen, and so had he. 

"They'll kill your Uncle if he comes alone." 

"They can't. They're craven. Weak," Rickon insisted. "They won't even let us have our wolves because they're scared of them." 

Jaime suddenly had an idea. It was a long shot, but maybe -- "My brother and Ser Davos are with the Queen, yes?" he asked.

They nodded. "Protect your brothers and sister," he told Arya, who nodded solemnly. "I'll be back in just a few minutes. I'll do a special knock," he said, tapping on the wood table in a particular pattern. "Bran, come with me." Bran nodded, meek. 

He saw the tables stacked on either ends of the hallway, sectioning this stretch of the castle off from the mutineers. This wasn't going to buy them more than a day. Now that he was here, they had a chance, but he, Brienne and Bronn were the only true fighting men they had. Gendry was good with a hammer and Arya with her Needle, but against full grown men of the Watch? Unlikely to help. 

He opened the door and saw his brother, the Queen and King, Davos and the Red Woman gathered. Edd and Pyp were stationed by the door, and nearly drew swords on him until they realized it was him.

"Thank the Gods you're finally back," Pyp exclaimed.

"Truly, things fall to shit as soon as I leave," he said. "What news have I missed?" 

"Ned Stark has retaken Winterfell. The Bolton army remnants fled to the Dreadfort, and Ned means to besiege them when they have time to recover. Stannis will be at Moat Cailin any day now. He means to march on Casterly Rock itself."

Of course he does. Drawing Tywin's focus away from King's Landing. 

"His hope is that Tywin will be more concerned for Joffrey and Cersei than taking the city and will turn back. They'll be crushed by Edmure and Blackfish on the way home." 

"Cersei isn't in Casterly Rock," he said. "She's at the Dreadfort. That's why the girls were taken. Slynt has been in communication with her. And Thorne let him go to cause a distraction so he could murder Jon." 

Margaery put a hand to her mouth. "My presence here has caused so much strife," she said. "I only hoped to unite the realms." 

"This was an inevitability." Benjen had worried that Thorne would do something to hurt him. But this? 

"Jon is just a boy," Davos said, and he was giving a significant look to the Red Woman, who stared into the fire. 

"He is meant to lead us against the Darkness," she said, almost a whisper. "Something must be done." 

"What are you talking about?" he asked bluntly. 

There was a bang upon the barricaded doors. 

"There's no time to explain," she said, standing. The red dress she wore seemed to do nothing against the cold, but he did understand why Stannis and Davos trusted her _counsel_ so much. The red gem at her throat glittered.

"I don't know how we mean to do anything when we can barely leave this room," Tyrion deadpanned. "They fill us with crossbow bolts if we linger in the hall." 

"I'm going back to the Starks," Jaime said. "Pyp. Bran is going to show you a way to the stables. Follow it to the lift and find a way to open the gate. Let the wolves in. Stay hidden and find your way back here." 

Pypar looked stricken, but he and Bran hurried off, Bran leading him by the sleeve.

  
Nightfall came and Jaime stood vigil by the door, unable to look at Jon or the other Stark children. Instead, he stared into the darkness of the hallway. A few loosed arrows had deterred the first attempt to get into their haven, but he was sure they would come back when they thought they were asleep. 

Jaime wouldn't sleep.

The Red Woman came to him, carefully knocking upon the door before entering.

"Send them away," she said. 

"I'm going to take you to sit with Queen Margaery," he said.

"We can't leave Jon," Sansa argued. 

"You have to, just for the night. For safety." He corralled them out and, sword drawn, opened the door to Margaery's room and sent them all inside. It was almost comically crowded, Tyrion at Margaery at the center of the children. 

Tyrion immediately launched into a ribald story, trying to get a smile from them. 

Davos stood in the doorway, with Jaime and Edd.

He heard the thunder of wood against wood. They were coming. He looked inside where the Red Woman was praying over Jon. What did they expect to happen? He couldn't make sense of this at all, but after all that he'd seen, he was willing to wait and see. 

The table holding the door steady splintered at the second impact. The blade of a mutineer stuck through. 

Jaime readied himself for a fight. "You any good with that, Onion Knight?" 

"Never been much of a fighter," he said bluntly. "But I'm not going to live to tell Stannis I let his nephew die because I can't swing a sword." 

Jaime laughed. "Let's see how well we die," he said, kicking aside the broken barricade and letting the door swing freely open. 

He heard another crack -- wood on wood. A wolf howled. 

But the door was open. 

He barely got a look at the Brother's face before the arrow took him in the back. From the courtyard below, a flash of red hair. 

Jaime ran to the railing as the giant Wun Wun broke through the gates, Benjen Stark and Tormund Giantsbane leading a small gang of Free Folk into the courtyard of Castle Black. Ghost bolted up the stairs past Jaime in a blur, his brothers and sisters thundering along behind him, desperate to rejoin their people.

"Where's Thorne?" Benjen roared at the nearest brother, who scrambled out of the way of the giant's swinging fist. "Where's Jon?" 

They surrendered easily, and Thorne, who had come out to see what the commotion was, regarded Benjen coldly. "You're as traitorous as your nephew," he spat. "The Free Folk are our enemies. They have always been our enemies. Their wars are not our wars." 

"The Dead will roll over everyone and everything. Not just wildlings. We can't let thousands of people die to them just because of your pride and hatred," Benjen said.

Thorne opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out except a sharp gasp of air. He fell to his knees and Ygritte stood behind him, a spear in her hands. She pulled out her dagger and took it to his throat. Blood coated the snow, and her eyes were drawn up to movement above them.

Jon Snow stood there, surveying the broken courtyard, an arm pressed to his fatal wounds, another atop Ghost's head.

_Alive_.


	28. Chapter 28

"I thought you were dead," Benjen said, reaching for his nephew as he stumbled down the stairs, like a baby deer, unsure of his footing. 

"I  _ was _ ," Jon choked out. There were tears on his eyelashes. "The Red Woman…" 

Benjen didn't know what to make of any of it, that much was clear. "We need to take care of these traitors, and then...We can figure out what to do." 

Jaime knew what he was confounded by. Death broke your service to the Wall, and Jon had died. Was he still a brother in black? Would Benjen let him go? Did he  _ want  _ to go? How oculd he possibly want to stay? 

Ygritte ran up to Snow and threw her arms around him as soon as Benjen stepped away. She didn't let go for a long time. "I can't believe -- I thought…" 

Benjen looked at Jaime for a lingering second. "Thank you," he said, turning away. 

Jaime left to help the other Rangers rustle up the living mutineers, leaving the family to their moment of relief. The Stark children had come into the courtyard. Sansa and Arya ran into Jon's arms, while Rickon became distracted at the sight of Wun Wun.

"Amazing," he said as he looked up at the giant, who very gently patted the boy with the tip of one gigantic finger, and walked over to where Tormund and his men were gathered, all openly staring at Jon. 

Bowen Marsh wept as they hanged him. He wondered if he wept as he murdered his brother in arms. Jaime had no contempt for the man. He did what he thought was right. 

So had Jon, and they'd repaid him with a knife in his side. Jon had only wanted to help people, and this is what the Night's Watch thought of that. It wasn't  _ fair _ .

Jon watched the execution with a detached coldness in his eyes. He was still Jon, but Jaime could feel how different he was. Something deep in him had changed.

He had heard the Red Woman whispering. The Prince that was Promised. Azor Ahai. It made no sense.

But something did make sense to Jaime. That there was something special in Jon. The way Daenerys had woken the dragons again, Jon rose from the dead. When the Targaryen princess came for Westeros, there would be a reckoning. 

That night, he went to Benjen.

"We need to talk," he said. 

Benjen was sitting in a chair, staring out the window into the distance, looking older and more weary than Jaime had ever seen. They were of an age, barely forty, but he might have been the oldest man at the wall at that moment. 

"About what?" he asked in a measured tone.

"Jon."

"Are you here to convince me he fulfills some sort of ancient Essosi prophecy? Because Lady Melisandre already almost took her top off to convince me of that."

He chuckled at the image.

"She realized very quickly that it would do me no good."

"It's not about that precisely…" He trailed off, and crossed the room to sit down on the bed, facing Benjen, but with enough distance between them that he could ignore the bitter yearning. "You need to tell Jon about his father."

"Ned --" 

"Ned Stark will do whatever he must to spare both him and the boy the most pain. The truth needs to be told. Jon needs to know why he's here. Only a Targaryen could…"

Benjen hid his face in his hands. "I know. I know what I have to do." The tired agony in his voice ripped right to Jaime's core. He wished he could do something. But Benjen had put the distance between them and all he could do was respect it. "I just don't know if I  _ can _ ."

"You always do your duty," he said. "More than anyone I've ever known."

His face turned bitter -- an ironic smile, more like a grimace. "I don't always."

"I should go," Jaime said, standing from the bed. "This isn't --"

" _ Stay _ ," Benjen said. He was already dressed for bed.

Jaime made quick work of his armor and laid next to the Commander. They were stiff for a moment, arms barely brushing together. 

He rolled onto his side as soon as Benjen did, and they were nose to nose on the cramped bed. 

"We don't have to --"

"We shouldn't --"

They both stumbled over the gentle denials but neither moved.

Jaime shifted forward to press his forehead into Benjen's, and didn't move until he fell asleep.

He woke the next morning with Benjen pressed into his chest, his arms around him tightly. 

"Wake up, Stark," he said, not ungently, as he carefully extracted himself from the bed to put on his armor. 

"I'm sorry," was all Benjen said before Jaime excused himself.

"No need to apologize."

  
  


He took watch atop the wall to clear his head, the cold winds bracing. He found them refreshing, now. When he'd come to the wall, he'd found them to be agony. Every cold breeze was a knife. Now it was a refuge. He didn't know how to shake the cold from his bones any longer.

Returning to the mess hall to grab some stew before he turned in for the night, he saw Benjen take Jon away from his siblings. Jon had been strained since it had happened. Something in him wasn't quite right, and it made him hesitate every time he wanted to speak with him.

They disappeared for the evening and didn't return. 

Jaime hoped against hope that Benjen had finally told the boy the truth. He deserved to know what to do with that. 

The next morning, the Stark children packed their things to make the trip back to Winterfell. Ned Stark had summoned them, declaring he wouldn't start marching against the Dreadfort until his children had been safely returned to Winterfell. 

Jon was leading his siblings there, along with Margaery and her retinue. 

Jaime left the barracks to see them off, bumping into Tormund coming out of the room Brienne of Tarth had claimed for herself. 

"I thought you were leaving, Tormund. You haven't even packed your things," he jested.

Tormund smirked in response, disappearing around the corner as Brienne herself emerged, armored and her things in a sack on her back. 

"So you've divested yourself of that pesky maidenhood, I take it?" he said, sidling up next to her as they walked to the courtyard.

Her bright red face said yes, but her mouth said nothing. "It's been an unexpected pleasure meeting you, Ser Jaime," she said in lieu of a farewell, quickly hiding behind Margaery so she no longer had to acknowledge Jaime's teasing smile. 

Jeyne Poole flung herself into his arms. "Visit, please."

"Keep out of trouble. I'll see you before too long."

He kissed the top of her head and sent her to join Sansa in Queen Margaery's carriage. Myrcella lingered, though never of them knew what to say to one another.

"Be safe," he told her. "Stay close to Bronn, and Lady Brienne."

She hugged him when it seemed no one was paying them any mind, and he repeated the same gesture he had left Jeyne with. A kiss on the top of the head, a hand on the shoulder. He couldn't think of much else to do.

Jon was speaking quietly to Benjen when he walked up and the Lord Commander excused himself. 

"Safe travels, Snow," he said.

"Don't get yourself killed, Lannister." 

"He told you," he said slowly and quietly, looking at the boy's dark eyes. 

Jon nodded.

"Will you be returning to us?" he added as their handshake ended and Jon cast a look towards Ygritte and Tormund, where they laughed and prepared their own horses.

"My watch is ended."


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey did you know that hating the title of a fic can drive you to stop updating it even if you have several chapters pre-written in a google doc? Well my socially distant ass is trying to finish abandoned projects now that the school semester has wound down, so back in action with a new title and a new summary (and one minorly amended detail back somewhere in the middle that only matters to me, if only because i wanted to imply asha and margaery fucked)

It was nearly a month before Benjen gave up on Jon returning. Word that the Stark children had been delivered safely reached them a fortnight after their departure. Jon and Ned had fought, Arya's letter declared, but offered no detail past that. Jon was no longer at Winterfell, but he wasn't coming back to the Wall, either.

In the weeks after the mutiny, Jaime saw little of Benjen, and he was grateful. It was still a dull ache in him when he caught the Lord Commander's gaze lingering.

It faded, though. The army of the dead seemed farther off than it had at Hardhome. He knew they would be upon them any time now, and Benjen had all but ceased any rangings beyond the wall. They didn't have the men, even with the Free Folk bolstering their numbers in the castles, it wasn't the same as having brothers in black. There were barely fifty of them at Castle Black now.

Ever since he'd realized that she was at the Dreadfort, he'd expected Cersei to come for him. She did, a month after the Starks and Margaery Tyrell's departure from the Wall. 

He was alone, a rarity on the Wall, when a cloaked figure emerged. He knew immediately. The way her steps echoed, the sway of the cloak she hid herself in, the tilt of her hips. He knew Cersei, better than anything else he'd ever known, better than himself. 

He pulled her into an empty room that was barely more than a supply closet, and she threw herself into his arms. 

He couldn't resist holding her for a moment, as all the long-simmering hate and resentment seemed to vanish, if only for that few seconds of quiet. 

"You shouldn't be here," he said.

"I came for you," she insisted, dropping her hood. Golden hair shone in the dim light, and she was just as beautiful as he remembered. "We can run away together."

Father was losing the war. Stannis had broken through Moat Cailin, and Roose Bolton had barely enough men to hold the Dreadfort. Tywin was as good as dead, if he didn't surrender. Cersei was abandoning him to that fate, but she'd come for Jaime. It had only taken her years, but she had come. Her leached husband had not won her loyalty. Was she capable of loyalty?

"I can't. They'll take my head." It was the safest excuse. She wouldn't understand. 

Cersei scoffed. "Do they really have the men to chase you to Volantis?"

"Volantis?" he repeated.

"Or Myr. Or Lorath. It doesn't matter.  _ Anywhere _ . We'll get Myrcella and Tommen and we go and be free. Free to be  _ together _ ." He didn't know if she was being sincere, if she really cared whether he was there or not, or if she just thought he could lead her to the children, or she just didn't want to be alone. He had never been able to read her that well, but it was what she was offering. 

Did he even want that anymore? It had consumed him after they'd been caught. In the Black Cells, on the road, his first few months at the Wall. It had been all he'd thought about. Cersei coming and taking him away from all of this, and them finally living the life he'd always dreamed of. 

Now...he knew what was coming for Westeros, and the idea of leaving was tempting. What did he have here except a cold, slow death? Honour? What was honour compared to the hands raking through his hair right now? She wanted to be with him. Unlike...

_ Love is the death of duty. _

He tried to shake it off. "What about Joff?"

"Ser Boros is escorting him to White Harbor to wait for us. We'll join him, charter a ship, get our children and  _ go _ ." 

"We can't take the children. They're...happy. They'll be safer if you don't." He faltered slightly when she stepped back, dropping her hands from him as though he were toxic. 

"So you did see them." Her upper lip curled.

"I just know what Tyrion tells me," he lied pathetically.

"You've always been a terrible liar, brother. Why would you keep them from me?" She was all venom now, none of the affection she had been lacing her tone with remained at all. "My children -- they're  _ mine _ . You're as bad as that monster."

"Cersei, you need to leave Westeros," he blurted. "Father is going to lose this war, and then the White Walkers are going to come, and they're going to destroy the entire country. Take Joff and go to Essos. Live a peaceful life."

She was opening the door as if she couldn't get away fast enough. "The cold has driven you mad. How could I think you would do anything for me? All you've done is ruin everything you've ever touched," she said, storming into the courtyard in a whirl of golden hair and a sweet scent. 

Well, she wasn't wrong. "Cersei you'll get me executed if you're seen."

The look in her eyes when she turned to him said that she didn't care if he were executed or not. It didn't matter to her, at that moment. 

Had it ever mattered to her whether he lived or died, truly?

He was unable to leave. Something in Jaime refused to just walk away from her where she stood glowering at him. He should've just gone to bed and let whoever had next watch find her standing there, and do with her what they would, but he couldn't leave her. He had loved her too long. 

He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the courtyard, and towards the gates. The man at the gate had apparently been paid enough to open it and set her loose, but not enough to warn Jaime that he was being watched.

He lingered as Cersei turned and cast him one last look of vitriol and hate, before he was slammed into the wall. His head swam and Benjen Stark came into soft, vague focus. 

"I could have your head right now." 

"Then take it," he said. What did it matter, anyway?

Neither Benjen nor the man at the gate made any effort to follow Cersei. He found himself caring less and less the further away he imagined her, and he certainly didn't care a bit about the empty threats Stark was making.

He stepped back. "You cannot be in contact with a traitor to the crown as First Ranger."

He blinked. "Since when am I First Ranger?"

"Since now."

"I haven't been in contact with her. She just showed up. I was telling her to leave."

"She wanted you to go with her," he concluded, his voice dropping, no longer the angry commander. "Why did you stay?"

"Good question," he sneered, brushing Benjen's hand from his shoulder and finding his way to bed, his dreams a confused tangle of dead faces and cold, icy blue eyes. Cersei was a pale, beautiful corpse atop a mountain of them.

He woke up more tired than he'd fallen asleep.

  
  


A First Ranger who did no rangings was a ridiculous thing to be, and yet that was what Jaime had become. 

"I assume you wrote to Lord Stark about the other night," he said. He couldn't imagine that Cersei would get far with Stark knowing she was going to White Harbor to flee. He didn't know how he felt about that.

"No," Benjen said. "I'm not getting involved."

"That's a first," he snorted, and Benjen actually smirked at the jest. He hadn't done that since Jon had died. He had been quietly distracted for weeks.

Some of the tension between them seemed to ebb away, for the first time in a long time, it felt like they weren't at odds. Things weren't the same, but the ice seemed to melt.

  
  


A fortnight later, Tywin Lannister was dead.

The raven came in the early morning, and Jaime contemplated it quietly. Edd slapped him on the shoulder in what was probably meant to be a sympathetic gesture, but said nothing, for once. 

His father seemed eternal to him. Unkillable. Stannis Baratheon taking his head for a traitor seemed...unfathomable. Cersei had started this war and abandoned her own father to the consequences, and now Casterly Rock would pass to Tyrion. The cold that came over him was not the cold of the looming winter, but it was still cold.

That night he found himself in Benjen Stark's bed. Clothed and untouched, as much as he longed to be otherwise, but he was there, his back to the Lord Commander as he contemplated the ruin he'd brought his family. It had all started with him. 

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"For him, no. But for you, I am."

Jaime didn't know what to make of that.


	30. Chapter 30

Winter blurred into endless cold nights and days that passed in the blink of an eye. 

The dead hissed and rattled at the wall, clawing at the iron gates but unable to pass through.

"The stories say there's old magic in the wall that keeps the Walkers at bay," Benjen noted as they stood atop the wall, looking down over the slowly growing mass of corpses. 

"The wights can get through," Mance Rayder said. "You said yourself one attacked Mormont in his solar."

"We flood and freeze the gates," Jaime suggested. "No one gets out or in until next summer." Which could be a thing of their imagination, at this rate. "We'll write to Eastwatch and Shadowtower to do the same."

"We have to kill the Night King," Benjen said. "Waiting them out won't work. They'll find a way to get through eventually, even if it's just climbing a mountain of those wights. The realm needs to know what's knocking upon their doors."

Pyp rushed out of the lift, waving a scroll. "Lord Commander, news from the capitol," he said. Pyp couldn't read, so Jaime presumed that Edd had told him what it said when he'd sent him up with it. 

Benjen read the scroll three times before he passed it to Jaime. 

Daenerys Targaryen had landed at Dragonstone. Margaery Tyrell was  _ optimistic _ they could make peace. 

She was the only optimistic one, judging by the look on Benjen's face, that Jaime knew was mirrored on his own. 

Mance took the scroll and read it as well, and the three of them considered what it meant. 

"Dragonstone is where nearly all the dragonglass in Westeros comes from," Benjen said over the skeptical din of gathered brothers. "If Margaery is suing for peace, then we still have claim to the mines like Lord Stannis promised as protector of the realm. And what's more, Daenerys has dragons. If you haven't noticed, fire melts ice, which means if we beseech her for help, we may be able to defeat these White Walkers before they find a way through the wall and destroy the whole country."

"What if they want us to get involved in their game of thrones?" one ranger demanded. 

"We are meant to guard the realms of men," Jaime interrupted. "Realm _ s _ . That means things below the wall as well as above it. We can't be neutral forever. If Margaery can't come to peaceful terms with the Targaryen girl, we may have to face a choice, for the good of everyone. Acknowledging one ruler over the other could mean the difference between life and death. Not only for us, but for everyone on the other side of this wall."

There was a mutinous murmur passing through the crowd.

"I'll go to the Dragon Queen," Benjen said, silence falling over the brothers. "Yoren, Edd, hold the wall until I get back. Hopefully I'll return with an army or a dragon." 

The men laughed, except Jaime. 

"Allow me to join you," Mance said, from where he and a few Free Folk sat at the edge of the room. 

Benjen frowned. "No. I'm sorry, you've become a trustworthy ally and friend in these dark times, but our agreement is that you must remain at the Wall. The other castles would be discomfited if I went back on that promise before the task is done." 

Mance didn't seem particularly happy with that decree, but he nodded and raised his hand at the complaints of his men. "Truly, I should stay with my son," he said to them, clearly trying to make the refusal seem mutual, and not like a slight. 

Benjen dismissed the brothers to their duties, and Jaime caught up with him before he sequestered himself away, as he so often did in the evenings now. It made it easier to forget, but harder, too. He  _ missed _ him. He was getting so soft. There was no time for that now. War was brewing, on all sides.

"I believe you made some stupid promise to your brother that you'd never let me out of your sight," he said, leaning across the doorway, blocking Benjen from moving away from him.

" _ You _ want to come to Dragonstone? To face Aerys's daughter?"

"Starks don't have the best luck in the south. The game of thrones isn't your strength. You need my help."

"As if it's yours." He snorted.

"Better suited to it than you are," he said, though he wasn't really. It was an excuse, and a flimsy one. Weeks on the road, alone together… It was a pale, false hope. But it was a hope.

  
  


They had only been traveling a few days (sadly just as distant and awkward as their time in Castle Black had become) when they came to the Free Folks' camp. Jaime wasn't shocked when he saw Jon, clad in furs, chase a red-headed child across the encampment. One of Tormund's boys, given the volume of his protesting cries. Jon saw them and turned away. The hurt was clear on Benjen's face, but they didn't intend to linger.

Tormund greeted them with some suspicion.

Benjen did the unthinkable, by Jaime's standards.

"Join us on this journey south. We are going to the Targaryen queen for assistance against the Dead. You're one of the few alive who's seen them. You might be able to convince her. She has no love for House Stark or House Lannister, but she bears no grudge against the Free Folk. If she's as just as they say, she'll listen."

"I'm already too fucking far south, Stark," he grumbled, snow dotting his fiery hair. 

"You might get to see Brienne of Tarth again," Jaime offered, despite himself. They needed Tormund, as loathe as he was to admit it.

This seemed to convince him, and the next morning at dawn, they were trekking down the Kingsroad, the three of them together. Tormund prattled, and Jaime considered if Mance Rayder would truly care if he murdered the man in his sleep. 

"Still heartbroken, Lannister?" Tormund asked over the fire they shared when they stopped for the night. 

"That implies I even had a heart to begin with," he said, raising an eyebrow. 

"I reckon you've a bigger heart than you'd like to admit," he said. "Bigger than your cock at any rate." 

Benjen was struggling not to laugh as Jaime tried to suss out whether or not he'd just been insulted or complimented. 

"What would you even know about that?" Jaime asked. 

Benjen interrupted Tormund's reply. "I'd really appreciate it if we stopped speaking about this and just slept. We have a long road to White Harbor." He stood abruptly and began fiddling with his bedroll.

"He's very modest," Tormund said sagely.

He and Jaime both laughed together.

The next night, they were able to get a room at an inn. Only one room. Tormund was happy to sleep in the stables with the horses, he told them with a wink at Jaime. He was oddly supportive, that wildling. The innkeep was equally happy to have the wildling outside, so it worked out for all of them. 

"I'll take the floor," Benjen said as they contemplated the single bed in their room. The floor space left something to be desired, but really Jaime enjoyed his self-sacrifice. He lounged on the bed, watching him unfurl his bedroll, remove his boots, and start to unlace his jerkin.

"We could fuck," he said in a casual voice.

Benjen froze.

"I mean, we aren't at the Wall. Who's going to tell anyone? Tormund?" 

"No one," Benjen agreed, a grin spreading over his face. "I suppose it couldn't hurt." He looked at his bedroll and back to Jaime on the bed. "Your bed or mine?" 

Jaime laughed and made space in the bed, immediately wrapping his arms around Benjen's shoulders. "We could still make it hurt, if you'd like," he said before he kissed him, for the first time in what felt like ages. It felt like it lifted a weight off of him. He didn't think about Cersei or Tywin or the children or Jon Snow for a few hours, and that's all he could've asked for.

They broke their fast the next morning with Tormund, and they found their way to White Harbor by the end of the day. The docks were abuzz with activity, and it was easy enough to find a ship going south. 

"We need passage to Dragonstone," Benjen said to the captain of a ship called the Salt Dog. 

"Dragonstone? What would possess you to go there?"

"We mean to go see the Dragon Queen," Jaime said, taking in his skeptical look with a raised eyebrow.

"We do," Benjen agreed. 

"Well, you'll be needing passage to King's Landing, not Dragonstone," the captain said. He took in their shared bafflement with the slightest of smirks. "News doesn't travel fast on the road up here. Lady Margaery has bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen. She sits the Iron Throne now, with the Baratheon brat as her heir, though I don't see that lasting once she has one of her own." 

"Well, this is going to be interesting," Jaime said wryly, considering how difficult it would be to turn and retreat back to the wall. He could face the Targaryen girl as a foreign interloper, but to face her sitting on the throne her father died on? In the city he had disgraced himself in? 

_ Fuck _ .


	31. Chapter 31

The seas were calm. Even so, Tormund was seasick for most of the journey, which left them in blissful silence. He stayed below, and Jaime roamed the ship restlessly. It was a long trip to King's Landing. 

"What will we say to her?" he asked, pressed into Benjen's back, their fourth night at sea. 

"Just the truth. Are you --"

"I'm not afraid. If she kills me, she kills me." Jaime had made his peace with the fact that she might kill him on sight. Her Dothraki and Unsullied and dragons didn't frighten him. He just hoped she helped the Wall after he was dead.

Benjen tensed. "Don't say that."

"Why?"

"As your Commander, I forbid you to die."

He snorted. "If the dragon queen wants me dead, I can't imagine you'll be able to stop her. Nothing in the seven kingdoms could."

"Maybe Margaery could persuade her," Benjen suggested, though it was futile. "I can only imagine what she did to get such a beneficial peace."

Jaime laughed. "Don't get too hopeful."

Benjen rolled onto his back and looked at Jaime intently. "I'm serious. As a man of the Night's Watch she has no authority to execute you. If she has any respect for the laws of Westeros, she has to know that." Then he grimaced. "And I won't allow it, besides. I --"

"We don't need to talk about it anymore," Jaime said avoidantly. "We don't need to talk at all."

He laughed. "Fine." 

They didn't sleep for a while, but Jaime was at least able to occupy himself with something other than words.

The Red Keep loomed in the distance after a fortnight at sea. He had never minded sailing but he had tired of it. He was stiff and ready to lose his head or his dignity or whatever else he had to surrender to Aerys's daughter so that the realm might survive.

Benjen sent word that they sought an audience with Queen Daenerys, and found an inn outside of the Red Keep where they could wait. The city was...happier than Jaime remembered it. Even as he saw legions of what could only be Unsullied patrolling the streets, no one seemed scared of them. Margaery, with all of her shrewdness and cunning, had somehow convinced the city to welcome these foreigners, to not view them as conquerers.

Good for her.

Tormund was baffled by the size of the city. The volume. The smell. He looked around, perturbed. "So this is a proper city," he said, in a tone that sounded less impressed than Jaime expected. "Smells like shit."

"All the proper cities do," Jaime said, clapping Tormund on the shoulder and buying him an ale. 

They waited for a night and nearly a full day at the inn, not daring to venture into the city and potentially miss the message from the Queen. 

Bronn came to them as they ate a questionable supper of stewed cabbage and "meat".

"It's been quite some time," Bronn said. "How are Sansa and Jeyne?"

"Safe and happy, as far as I know," Jaime said, pulling up a chair for him. "How's Tyta?"

"Much the same."

"Messenger is a bit below your station, isn't it? Didn't Tyrion have you knighted? Where's Podrick?" 

"Aye, he did. Pod's training with Lady Brienne. I wouldn't dare interrupt her." He was afraid of her, as he should be. 

Tormund perked up at the sound of Brienne's name, but stayed silent, listening instead of stuffing his face for a moment.

"Tyrion will greet you after he breaks his fast in the morning. 'Look presentable' was his message." His dark eyes raked over the three of them, salty and grizzled from the long voyage. "Can't see what he was worried about."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "Is this audience with Tyrion or Queen Daenerys?"

"Tyrion."

For good or ill, Jaime thought maybe they'd make more progress with Tyrion than they would a Targaryen. 

  
  


It took the better part of the morning to find somewhere that would let them use their baths. Satisfied that they were clean enough for the Keep (though Tormund with clean hair and a fluffed beard was a surreal sight), they allowed a band of Unsullied to escort them into the Tower of the Hand. The Keep was quiet. Not full of bright characters like it had been in Robert's day. 

Thoros of Myr walked by in serious talks with Stannis's Red Woman and Jaime considered that maybe it hasn't changed overmuch after all.

Tyrion sat at the end of a table, flanked by Bronn and Pod, his hands pressed together in front of his face, deep in thought. Something was wrong.

"Brother," he said, smiling despite his troubled demeanor.

Jaime sat, Benjen and Tormund flanking behind him. "What's the trouble?"

"Oh. No trouble."

"Why are we not having audience with the Queen? Or with the Master of War, at least. Stannis would listen to us, surely."

"The Queen will see you…soon. She has much to take care of as the transition of power continues. Not everyone was thrilled with Margaery's decision to cede. It was practical, for the lives of the people in the city, but of course puffed up lords half a country away see it more insultingly."

"So she's trying to squash potential rebellion."

"There are mutterings of Randyll Tarly striking Highgarden. And…"

They came to the cause of Tyrion's unease. 

"Rumour that our sweet sister means to return to Westeros with the Golden Company at her back. To take the throne in Joffrey's name."

Jaime grimaced. "Oh." Did she really think she could defeat three dragons, an army of Unsullied and a hoarde of Dothraki? With one sellsword company? Perhaps he wasn't the stupidest Lannister after all. 

"She escaped to Braavos with Joff and the Bastard of Bolton after Roose fell to Stark. I'm shocked she got that far without being seen."

Jaime exchanged a guilty look with Benjen, who closed his eyes and sighed. He should have stopped her. Arrested her. Turned her into Ned Stark. She may have been executed. If he'd escaped with her, he could have dissuaded her from this folly. Tywin had made a point to keep the Bastard of Bolton from her and Joff for a reason. 

Tyrion cleared his throat to continue. "Queen Daenerys has concerns over House Lannister's …involvement."

"She thinks  _ we're  _ involved in --"

He sighed. "Not we."

Jaime understood, and tried not to grumble. "If she'd talk to me, she'll know.  _ You  _ know I haven't been involved. I'm not." But as he looked at his brother, his beloved brother, his only family… He wasn't so confident that Tyrion  _ knew _ . "You think I'm in contact with her?"

"I...don't know. Things are different, now," he said, and maybe Jaime imagined his eyes flitting over to Benjen. "But I never know what to believe when it comes to you and our dear sister."

Even as anger burned inside of him, he shook it off and focused on his purpose. "We're here to ask Daenerys for continued permission to mine Dragonstone for dragonglass, and for her support against the threat of the White Walkers. Whenever she'll see us, we would be grateful, My Lord," he said stiffly, roughly shoving his chair back. "Do we have your leave --"

"You can't go," he said. "You'll be staying in the Red Keep...until Queen Daenerys decrees otherwise."

They were  _ hostages _ . Because of him. 

"Podrick, show them to their quarters. Make sure they have every comfort."

No comfort could prepare him for this, he thought. The rooms were nicely furnished, away from the hustle and bustle of the Keep, and he locked his door as soon as Podrick excused himself. 

Of course no one in this city trusted him. Cersei would be the death of him, even when he tried to be rid of her. 


	32. Chapter 32

Jaime's sour mood persisted for their stay in the Red Keep. They were prisoners by any token. Tormund and Benjen moved about freely, and Jaime knew the same grace would be granted to him, but he stayed in his room regardless. 

He didn't want to incur any suspicion, after all. 

Tormund raved at dinner about seeing Brienne again, and Jaime couldn't muster a laugh at his open enthusiasm, even when Benjen nudged him and snickered. 

That night, he sequestered himself again. His solitude was disrupted by a knock on the door. He opened it, knowing exactly what to expect. The wolfish, stern face of Benjen greeted him, and didn't wait to be invited in, shoving by him. 

"Are you going to continue to sulk during our captivity? It's making my time quite dull," he said, grabbing Jaime's collar and holding him in place. 

"I'm conforming to the wishes of the Queen," he said. "I don't feel like being followed by Lord Varys's little birds everywhere I go, besides." 

"So you go nowhere?" 

"What's the point? No one in this Keep has ever had any great love for me. I don't have anyone to visit." Strangers and contempt, that's all the Red Keep was to Jaime now. Which was better by half, because when he had been in the Kingsguard it had only been contempt. 

Benjen didn't have an answer for that. "Well can you at least stop acting as though I've done something?" 

He was right and Jaime knew it. He had just never been good at admitting that to people. "My own brother believes I've got some kind of deathwish. That I'd conspire against the crown for no benefit to myself. I'm not in a good mood." 

"I don't think Lord Tyrion truly…" He paused. "It's not unreasonable to think that you might still be beholden to your sister. But I don't think he truly  _ believes  _ it." 

"Not unreasonable?" he asked, gaping. "I --" Jaime backed away from Benjen in two short steps. " _ You _ think I'm conspiring with Cersei?" 

"No. No." He said it quickly, and it rang hollow. "I know you aren't. I do. I just don't think it's...I can understand why someone like Daenerys might suspect it. She doesn't know you." 

"Tyrion does."

"Maybe he doesn't feel like that," he said. "I --" Sitting down on the bed, he unlaced his boots. He was making himself at home, even without invitation. Jaime felt like something had gone wrong somewhere. He wasn't the dominant force in this relationship, and it nagged at him somewhat. 

Nothing for it. 

"Look, when I figured out the truth about Jon, it entirely changed my perception of Ned. He was my older brother, and I'd always looked up to him as an example of what it meant to be honourable, the way I looked up to Brandon on how to be a warrior. And then I found out he was sacrificing that honor for our sister." Benjen always looked uncomfortable saying more than a few words in a sequence, but now he looked like he wished for the ground to swallow him up. "And I'm sure Tyrion has had the same struggle over the past few years." 

Jaime hated that he was right. He stayed standing, keeping a distance between them, still feeling prickly and wounded. "I've not changed that much." 

Benjen snorted. "Yes, you have." 

"I was always this person. I just...kept it inside." Jaime knew what he'd done to himself, what he'd done to his reputation, to keep himself safe from the judgment. 

"You're better for letting people get to know your better nature," he said. "Gods knows I like you more these days," he jested gently.

Jaime half-smiled. 

"Come to bed."

  
The next morning they were roused by Podrick knocking on the door. He seemed unsurprised when Benjen answered the door half-dressed. "My Lords, the Queen will receive you now," he said. 

Jaime, still lounging, enjoying the sunlight that was filtering in through the window, felt suddenly cold. 

It was time, then. 

Dressing quickly and saying nothing, they were led by Podrick and three silent Unsullied. They found themselves before Daenerys Targaryen shortly. She sat on the Throne stiffly, her arms folded in her lap. She wore black and red, but a keen eye could see the tendrils of green climbing up the sleeves. He prayed it symbolized the twisting vines of House Tyrell and not wildfire. 

"You are standing in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, and Breaker of Chains," a pretty girl of an age with the Queen said, perfectly practiced, in perfect, unaccented Common. 

They bowed. 

"May I present Benjen Stark, the 999th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and brother to the Warden of the North," Podrick said, looking apprehensive. 

Daenerys's maid gave him an encouraging nod. Maybe she'd been helping him with his stutter. He'd been clearer since they'd arrived, certainly. 

"As well as Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, First Ranger of the Night's Watch." He paused. "And Tormund Giantsbane, of the Free Folk." 

Tormund gave Podrick a side-long glance. "We discussed this, boy. My full title." 

Podrick sighed, giving Daenerys a side-long, apologetic glance. "Forgive me, Your Grace." 

"It's fine, Podrick, you're doing a good job." 

So she  _ was  _ a kind ruler, at least at a glance. Jaime's cold fear started to ebb away, just a little. He didn't know Tormund had any titles, so he was interested to hear what Podrick had rehearsed for him. 

"So stands before you Tormund Giantsbane, Mead King of the Ruddy Hall, also called Tormund Thunderfist -- Tall-Talker, Horn-blower, Speaker to Gods, Breaker of Ice, Father of Hosts and Husband to Bears," he said, trying to force some enthusiasm into his voice. 

Tormund preened slightly. 

"I can't say I've ever met anyone with a title nearly as impressive as mine," Queen Daenerys said politely restraining a chuckle. 

"Among the Free Folk, titles are more for stories than anything else," he said, a little sheepish. 

"Well, you'll have to tell me some of those stories some time, my Lord," she said. "But for now, I'd like to know why the brother of Robert Baratheon's dog and the man who killed my father stand before me," she said. 

"As men of the Watch, we've relinquished our ties to our old lives. That includes crimes, your Grace," Benjen said immediately, a little defensive. "You of all people should understand the desire to not be held accountable for the actions of your family." 

She stiffened. "That is true. And my advisors explain to me that you're a good and just leader of the Watch." 

"I try to be." 

She turned to Jaime and considered him for a second. "The Kingslayer." Her tone was harsh and her pretty, young face was drawn into a glower. "I have long thought of what I would do if you were ever in my presence," she said. 

Benjen took half a step forward, but didn't speak. 

Jaime had wondered what she would do, too. Did their fantasies align in this strange time they were living in? 

He put a hand out to settle Benjen. Whatever wrath she brought down on him was probably earned. No one else needed to be troubled by it. "Your Grace, the man I was before...I'm not, any longer. Tywin Lannister is dead, House Lannister is scattered. My loyalty is to the Wall, and if you feel you must punish me for the death of Aerys, wait until you hear what we ask of you before you do." 

She furrowed her eyebrows. 

"Ser Jaime is a man of the Watch, now. His crimes are forgiven. Punishing him for them would make the rest of Westeros feel as though you do not respect the law of the land," Benjen said, ever-shrewd. 

Alienating Westeros was a death sentence for her burgeoning rule, and everyone in the room knew it. She had to honour the law of the land to keep the people Margaery had handed to her. 

"And I can vouch that Ser Jaime is a good man," Brienne said from where she stood sentinel behind Daenerys. "He risked his life to save three little girls his sister attempted to abduct from the Wall." 

"You vouch for him?" Daenerys asked, turning. She frowned even deeper. "Your sister tries to rally forces even across the Narrow Sea, did you know that?" 

"I learned it when we broke fast with Tyrion not three days ago, Your Grace," he said. "I had no inkling of her intentions before that." 

Her eyebrow was raised skeptically.

"Queen Daenerys, we're not here to discuss this," Benjen said bluntly. "The realm is in danger, and you're the only one who can stop it, Your Grace." 

"Pardon me, Lord Commander," she said. "I'm face to face with the man who killed my father, and I find it somewhat distracting." Her face was cold, calculating and her rage was restrained, but Jaime could feel it radiating off of her in waves. 

Benjen's patience had run out. He clenched his jaw, stepping in front of Jaime completely, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I believe I'm speaking to the daughter and heir apparent of the man who murdered my father and brother, and the sister of the man who killed my own sister. Can we dispense with the useless dissections of the past and move to the present? I saw the Red Woman here, I'm sure she's told you what's waiting for us beyond the Wall, Your Grace. I mean no disrespect, but there are matters more dire than old grudges at play." 

Queen Daenerys looked almost humbled at his tone. "I apologize. My father did wicked things, it's true," she said, softening. "In the years I've worked to build myself up from nothing, after everything was taken from me, I've learned much about my family. My father was cruel and mad, it's true. He did terrible things to your family, and so did Rhaegar, as much as everyone said he was a good man." She paused. "I didn't come this far to  _ avenge _ my family. I'm not sure they deserve it. I came this far for myself. I've been through every horror and betrayal you can imagine, and now I'm  _ here _ . _ "  _

"And if you want to stay here, Your Grace, please listen to us," Benjen said. "Beyond the Wall the White Walkers are building an army. I know it sounds ridiculous, but the Long Night is coming again. Valyrian steel can defeat them, and dragonglass. Lord Stannis promised mining operations would begin under Dragonstone before your arrival, and we hope you'll honor that promise. We've all seen the Army of the Dead. Your dragons might be the only thing standing between Westeros and oblivion." 

Queen Daenerys either welcomed or dreaded the prospect, her face seemed to reflect both. "The White Walkers...are stories. The War for the Dawn was 8000 years ago." 

"And now they're back. All you have to do is go to the Wall and you'll see their army outside our gates, scratching to get through."

"They can't get through?" 

"The White Walkers cannot...for now. But they control these beasts, reanimated corpses...wights, they're called. They  _ can _ get through, and they're mindless. All they do is kill. They'll rip the country apart." 

Daenerys looked thoughtful. "So I'm to take my forces north, leave King's Landing vulnerable while the sister of the man pleading your case conspires to challenge me. This feels like a trap, I'm sorry to say."

"It's not. Strategy is needed to keep your position in the south safe while you march north, it's true. I'll leave that to your Master of War and your Hand. But there will be no Kingdom left to rule for you or Cersei Lannister if they find a way through the Wall. Come to the north and see for yourself. You will understand just how dire it is when you see them."

She bit her lower lip. "I will have an answer for you soon, My Lords." 

They took the dismissal for what it was and left. Tyrion joined them on their walk back up to their quarters.

"It certainly could have gone worse," he said uneasily. 

"Please speak sense to her. She's right to worry about her grasp on the throne, but she cannot sit it at all without the realm," Benjen said. 

"Aye. She'll have no one left to kneel to her when we're all dead," Tormund said. 

Tyrion sighed. "I'll do what I can."

  
  


The next morning, there was a knock on their chamber door, and without even responding, the Red Woman glided into their presence. Jaime didn't have the time or ability to care that he was trouserless in front of this woman.

"My Lords."

"My Lady," Benjen said, politely irritated. 

She walked inside and shut the door behind them, not allowing them time to redress. 

"Might we speak, Lord Commander?" she asked, her eye flitting to Jaime before returning to Benjen. 

"He should hear it too, I suppose," he said, sounding tired. 

The Red Woman nodded. "Queen Daenerys will come to you aid. But you must bring Jon Snow with you to battle the Great Other. He is crucial in the coming fight." 

"So you believe even with Daenerys, if Jon Snow doesn't come with us, we'll lose?" he asked slowly, skepticism dripping from his tone. 

"The Prince that Was Promised must lead the battle against the War for the Dawn," she said with a solemn nod. "You understand how important your nephew is. We both do. You  _ must  _ go to him."


	33. Chapter 33

He was winded when Brienne drove him back and he found himself trapped against the retaining wall. The swords sang, and Jaime felt a little bit more alive. She was good. Strong, and faster than she had any right to be at her height. 

She was nearly as good as he was. 

He'd been shocked when Brienne had sought him out to spar, but he had been waiting and his anger and impatience needed an outlet, so the dull tourney swords and the sandy, hidden spot away from the keep was a welcome distraction. 

"You're good," he said appreciatively.

"My father said if I was going to fight, I may as well know what I'm doing," she said agreeable, not bothering to be modest. 

Jaime could appreciate that. 

"So, tell me, what do you truly think of the Dragon Queen?" he asked as he leaned against the wall, wiping sweat out of his eyebrows. "How did all of this come to pass?" 

"Queen Margaery understood as soon as Daenerys landed that it would not benefit any person, large or small, to go to war again as soon as they had found some modicum of peace from the Lannisters. They were locked together for two nights working towards peace. Queen Daenerys is an unshakable woman, but she sees the value in alliances with someone so well-loved by the people of Westeros."

He could only imagine what being locked together for two nights entailed. They certainly had made great strides in their peace talks. 

"Margaery and King Orys cede the throne but maintain a seat on the council and until Daenerys has an heir of her own body, he will be her presumptive heir. She loves the babe, despite what his father did to her family…" She gave him a meaningful look. 

"What?" 

Brienne said, the practice sword against her thighs. "You and Lord Commander Benjen were ready to be ungraceful to her. She was harsh, but perhaps you could have been...less expectant of it." 

Jaime rolled his eyes. "She judged me before she could walk and talk, Lady Brienne. That was never going to be mitigated by any amount of grace. I murdered her father. It's her right to judge me."

"You did, but you've...repented." 

"I haven't. I don't feel guilty for killing Aerys," he said, standing up and cracking his neck. 

"Ser Jaime…" 

"I don't. He was a madman who meant to destroy the entire city rather than surrender to my father. I killed one King and saved a whole city," he said bluntly. A secret he'd kept so long, but the further he was from it, the more he felt like he didn't benefit by hiding it. What reputation was he protecting? 

"Yet you let your reputation be sullied all this time?" 

"No one cared about  _ why _ I did it," he said. "And it didn't matter. Still doesn't. Aerys is dead, and I'm not. Queen Daenerys hasn't executed me yet, so I don't believe she will." 

"Nor do I. She understands mercy, better than anyone, I think. She hasn't been on the receiving end of it much." Abruptly, Brienne stood, looking over Jaime's shoulder.

He turned and saw an Unsullied approaching; he was young, with a stern face, and he had seen this one before in the throne room, lingering behind the iron throne. He was important.

"Grey Worm." 

"Brienne," he said, in stilted Common. "Our Queen wishes to see the Kingslayer," he said. 

Funny how his Common was so awkward until he had to say _Kingslayer_.

Grey Worm and Brienne escorted him back to the Red Keep, and he once again found himself in front of the Iron Throne, looking up at Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, titles titles titles. Benjen was already there, and Tormund turned to greet Brienne, who stared determinedly forward, not meeting his gaze.

Today, the Throne Room felt different. Margaery and Tyrion flanked the Throne in their own seats, not looking terribly grim. He felt less like he was on trial.

"Ser Jaime, Lord Commander Stark, Tormund Giantsbane," she said. "I have taken time to speak with trusted advisors and friends. I have thought about what you have told me, and it concerns me." She exchanged a glance with Margaery. "I have won the realm. I mean to protect it. Not allow it to fall into danger because I care more for an iron chair than my people." 

They looked at each other, daring to hope. 

"The Armies of the Reach will keep King's Landing and Blackwater Bay secure, my Unsullied and Dothraki will make the journey with me North and we will defend the Wall. I will send out a call to all of the wielders of Valyrian steel. They will join you in the north, as a show of loyalty to both their new Queen and the realm. Lord Stannis will sail north and ride from Eastwatch beyond the wall to meet our forces at Castle Black." 

A pincer maneuver. Classic battle tactic. It reeked of Stannis Baratheon. It was how he'd crushed Mance Rayder. Were classic battle tactics what they needed against the dead? 

"You won't find easy passage up the King's Road, Your Grace. If Cersei Lannister is trying to rebuild power, her son is wed to one of Walder Frey's daughters. He might make your time difficult."

Daenerys seemed to be weighing Tyrion's words. "We'll wipe them out if they don't bend the knee. He has many sons, someone will understand how foolish his stand is and join our cause."

"It may delay you," he said. "Perhaps we ought to all sail." 

"No. We'll go overland. I want the countryside to see us. I want to help the smallfolk who have been terrorized by the Lannisters. I want them to see us and to know why we march north. Plus, the Twins are more vulnerable from the south than the north, are they not?" 

Jaime saw wisdom in that, and Tyrion apparently agreed, lifting a dark eyebrow and leaning back in his seat. "Perhaps it is. The matter of the Valyrian steel…"

"The Vale is under the thumb of Ned Stark's goodsister," Jaime said, attempting to recall long forgotten history lessons. "Lord Corbray has one, though who knows if Lady Lysa would allow him out of the Vale with it. Lady Asha could rouse Lord Drumm to meet us there."

"And there's Randyll Tarly's Heartsbane."

"His son Dickon will be joining you on the journey north, with his father's sword."

She was insisting, clearly, to keep Randyll at bay. Murmurings of his disquiet over Margaery's surrender were all over the city. Would he betray his liege if his son was a captive? Jaime did not know Randyll, but he envisioned a man much like Tywin. Cold and concerned with legacy. It made sense that he'd sent his rightful heir away when it was clear that Samwell was bookish and meek. 

"Very well. We'll leave as soon as you see fit to allow it."

Daenerys nodded. "One last thing. If we arrive north and this is some sort of...trick or trap. If you've taken me for a fool or mean to seat your...nephew...on the throne in my absence, your life is forfeit. No vows will save you from my wrath." 

Jaime nodded, before anyone could protest. "Fair enough."

"You'll leave in two days, if that suits you."

They had to hope that it wasn't too late. 


	34. Chapter 34

"I know your stay here wasn't pleasant," Tyrion said, as Jaime prepared to board the ship that was meant to take them to White Harbor. "But it was good to see you again, brother." 

"And you," he said. He'd long forgiven Tyrion for the circumstances of their time in the capitol. He was sad to see the last of his brother for what would probably be a long while now. Tyrion, not much for combat, would be riding with Daenerys, trying to help her navigate Westeros and ingratiate her with any skeptical lords.

It was likely he would shelter at Winterfell while the armies fought the dead, and Jaime was thankful for it. 

It would be an easy trip to Winterfell. It was what was beyond Winterfell that was clearly giving Benjen some pause. They boarded the ship, Tormund looking green as it swayed in the cold breeze, and Jaime glanced sidelong at his unhappy looking companion. 

Benjen did not want to go to Jon. Their parting had been tense, though Benjen had told him very little about what had specifically transpired. The Red Woman seemed to think Jon's presence was necessary, and more than that, he held possession of Longclaw. They needed Valryian steel on this mission. 

Jaime hoped maybe Tormund would be able to get through to him, if his trust in his family was entirely shattered. 

"It's not a long trip," Benjen assured Tormund with a slap on the shoulder, noting that Tormund looked a little green around the beard. 

Dickon Tarly was swaggering up to the captain. He had loudly insisted he was interested in learning sailing, so he would be Captain Daren's problem. Jorah Mormont was also joining in on the mission. Jaime had only met him once at the siege of Pike, fighting alongside Thoros of Myr, and he had aged into a man with a stern, stoic demeanor. 

"You sent Samwell Tarly to the Citadel to train," he said to Benjen as they watched the Red Keep shrink into the sea. 

"Aye, I did."

"He saved my life," he said. "He's a good lad. Smart." 

Dickon had heard this. "My brother is at the Citadel?" he asked. 

"Training to become a Maester, yes."

"My father will be furious to hear it. Sam always wanted to be a Maester...he had never allowed it," he said, looking a little forlorn. "But he was always furious about Sam in one way or another... I wish he was still at Castle Black, I'd like to have seen him again…"

Jorah patted Dickon on the shoulder. "Well, I have a mind to visit him at the Citadel again when this is all over. Thank him properly," he said. "You could do the same." 

"Your father thought highly of him," Benjen said agreeably to Mormont. "He'll make quite the Maester when this is all said and done."

Mention of Jeor chilled the air on the deck, and Jaime had half a mind to flee the whole situation.

"I wish I'd been able to see him again, to apologize for disappointing him," he said. "It seems he had sons aplenty that didn't disappoint him." He gave Benjen a somewhat scathing look. 

"I don't think he saw it like that," was all Benjen could muster, and they finally split away. "We need to check the dragonglass, make sure it's secure for the trip." 

They were taking it to Winterfell, to be forged into weapons for the upcoming battle, a gesture of goodwill from Queen Daenerys. It was locked away in the bowels of the ship, and when they opened the door to the hold, it was still there. 

"Well, that was awkward," he said. 

"It's only going to get worse before this is over," he said. "Ned's calling the banners. Every lordling is going to want to chat."

Jaime laughed. "Such is the life of Lord Commander." 

Disappointment bled into Benjen's expression. "I do have to...be a Commander…" he said. "When we return --"

"I know, I know, we go back to being dutiful Lord Commander and First Ranger," he said. He had expected this conversation to happen, and he had resigned himself to the truth. "I will not protest."

"Really?"

"There are more pressing matters in the world than whether or not you'll fuck me," Jaime said with a snort. "Maybe you'll be less upset when I die horribly at the hands of the Walkers or the dragon queen if we manage to keep our distance."

"I'll still be upset," he said.

"Good, mourn me forever."

Benjen laughed.

Jaime pulled a stern face. "I'm being serious."

Lord Manderly was a generous host. They stayed in White Harbour two days while his sons raised their men and prepared for the march to Winterfell. 

He was immensely fat, but a kindly man. His sons were not quite so immense as he, but were similarly good-natured. 

"I had hoped that the business with Bolton was the last I'd see of the banners before winter came," Lord Too Fat For His Horse said. "Ah, well."

Benjen shook his head. "It's better this way. If these creatures get past the Wall, the North will be destroyed. If we can get ahead of this, I'm optimistic that peace will last longer than a month, for once." 

Manderly looked skeptical, but nodded anyway, chewing on the immense turkey leg clutched in his hand in lieu of speaking.

  
  


The Manderly army moved at a pace that Jaime loathed. He and the Tarly lad both mutinously considered just riding ahead on their own speed, but leaving the dragonglass and Benjen behind was not an option, so they slowed to the pace of the column.

"You don't need to share a tent, Lord Giantsbane?" Dickon asked as they set up camp one night. It was beneath suspicion that they shared, but the fact that Tormund opted to sleep out under a tree was odd to the Lordling. 

"The Free Folk enjoy sleeping outside," he said. "Especially in the winter. Freezes our blood, makes us better fighters."

Dickon didn't know enough about blood to argue his point, so he just shrugged and went back to his own tent, shared with Ser Jorah. The Manderlys had been generous with the tents, but it wasn't as if they'd each been given their own.

This was the first night on the road that they had felt bold enough to do more than sleep back to back, not fearing any interruption from their motley assortment of travel companions. It was a welcome relief to press tighter together underneath the furs.

Of course the front of the tent opened violently, and Jorah Mormont stooped to enter. 

"Ser Jorah," Benjen said, overcome by a coughing fit as he rolled onto his back and sat up.

Jorah raised an eyebrow and didn't speak, taking in the sight of the two of them. There was no hiding it. 

"Do you want an invitation or was there something you needed, Ser?" Jaime asked. 

"No thank you." He paused. "I meant to discuss strategy, but you're clearly occupied."

"Let's get this over with, Ser. So we don't have any more unfortunate incidents," Benjen said in an irritated voice. He was very loosely covered by furs, reclining languidly, making a very clear statement about what was being disrupted.

"These creatures, the wights, you say they're 100 thousand strong?"

"I do."

"And we mean to march into the middle of them to assassinate their leader?"

"When my nephew killed a White Walker, many of the wights around it fell. It seems that the wights are bound to the Others who create them. If the Night King dies, they all might die. As he created the Walkers that created them." Benjen paused.

"I see. That's promising," he said. "But how do we get to them?"

"We'll go around. We'll use the tunnel from an adjacent abandoned post on the Wall and we'll make a circle," Jaime said. "From the west. It'll draw their eyes from the east where Stannis will be approaching. Once the armies are pulling their gaze we should be able to use the distraction to get close to the Night King."

"This is a suicide mission," Jorah noted, though he did not sound particularly upset by that.

"Probably," Jaime agreed. "You can wait for your Queen and spare yourself if you must."

"I was afflicted with Greyscale. Samwell Tarly healed me, but I have no notion of how long I will remain healthy. I'll be going, regardless of my likelihood of coming back. I just wanted to…"

"Make sure you weren't being led by a moron," Jaime concluded shrewdly. "I assure you, we're capable. You'll be in good hands." 

Jorah raised an eyebrow again, considering them both before nodding and turning on his heel to depart the tent without so much as a farewell. 

They both laughed too long and too much to resume their activities for the night.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jaime lannister is a bottom in case anyone was confused

Winterfell rose into view as they crested the hill. Tents dotted the land around the great keep, and banners waved in the distance. Mormonts, Umbers, Karstarks, all the great northern houses assembled. The Manderly banner snapped in the wind behind them.

"I've heard stories about Winterfell," Dickon said. "It's magnificent," he added. And it was -- blanketed in the thick winter snow, it looked as ancient and foreboding as it really was. Jaime wondered what awaited them inside. 

Theon Greyjoy and Robb Stark had ridden out to meet them. 

"Lord Commander, Ser Jaime," they said. 

"Good to see you, Robb, Theon," Benjen said. "This is Lord Dickon Tarly." 

Jorah Mormont was hiding somewhere amongst the Manderly men, not wanting to face Lord Stark. He had been pardoned by the crown, but he was not expecting much in the way of courtesy at Winterfell, and had decided to politely excuse himself to the back of the column. 

"Welcome to Winterfell," Robb said to Dickon, and they finished their ride into the castle when Lord Manderly and his sons caught up.

Ned Stark and the rest of the family greeted them just beyond the gates. He dismounted, a stablehand taking the reins of the horse, and he stood back as Lord Stark greeted his brother with a quick hug, and then turned to the Manderlys, offering them the courtesy of Winterfell. 

"Ranger Lannister," Lord Stark said, stiffly polite, avoiding his eye.

Jaime nodded his greeting, catching back up with Benjen and slinging his arm across his shoulder. "Glad to be back in the north," he said. "Right, Lord Commander?" 

"King's Landing is not for Starks," he agreed, not acknowledging Jaime beyond his response. 

The children stood just beyond Ned, though they weren't much children anymore. Lady Sansa was near as tall as Jaime, and curtsied prettily in greeting. Arya was still short, but she'd grown wiry with muscle, looking uncomfortable in a gray dress, her hair barely to her shoulders, tied back more in the fashion of her father. She looked too much like Jon, it was almost eerie. Bran was taller, still a boy, but he wore a bow across his back and smiled gamely.

"Where's Rickon?" Lady Catelyn asked, as a door banged open and a stream of fur and barking filled the courtyard. 

A grey beast slammed into Jaime's legs, looking up at him with tongue lolling from it's gigantic head. 

"Hello Nymeria," he said, scratching the wolf behind her ears.

Rickon emerged from the shadows, the miniature of Robb, Shaggydog trotting beside.

"You're in time for supper," Lady Catelyn said to them before casting a cool eye at her youngest son. There would be trouble later, despite everyone's clear delight at seeing the wolves. They were curious of Dickon, but not aggressively.

Within the walls of Winterfell, they were greeted by stewards and servants. He was shown to his room, glad to finally have one to use after a week in a tent. Before he could consider his bath, there was a faint knock at the door. 

He pushed it open and was unsurprised when he was assailed by a blur of brown hair and blue fabric. Jeyne Poole gripped his neck tightly.

"Ser Jaime!" she said happily. She wasn't nearly as tall as Sansa, sharing more of the northern look with Arya, though more ladylike by far. 

"Lady Jeyne," he said, returning her embrace and then putting her down gently. "I still stink of the road, my lady," he said apologetically. She wasn't a Lady, as far as he knew, but he felt she deserved the title. 

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I've missed you."

Jaime considered her for a moment. A woman grown now, she was easy and confident. He remembered the jagged haired, terrified girl, poorly acting as a boy she had been so many years ago, and was glad she'd managed to stay safe. He really had missed her. "And I you." 

Jeyne beamed. "How is...Tyta?" she asked.

"Well, for now, hopefully," he said. Cersei's looming shadow caused him pause, but he trusted Tyrion. He hadn't seen her in King's Landing, but he'd asked after her once or twice. "I believe she'll be traveling with Tyrion north soon."

"It will be good to see her," she said agreeably. "Is what they say true? The Dragon Queen is coming to Winterfell?" 

"She is."

"Is she…?"

"She's good. She's kind. You have nothing to fear from her, as long as your liege Lord is wise." He could say many unflattering things about Ned Stark, but being unwise wasn't one of them.

Jeyne nodded. "A lot has changed since we left the Wall."

That was true. "Let me dress for supper and we can talk after," he said. "It's good to see you hale and happy."

She hugged him again, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He ruffled her hair and she excused herself, fussing with it all the way down the hall.

Supper was a lively affair. They sat at the high table, a place of honor, across from all the northern lords, next to Ned. Ned's face was as dour as ever, even as he leaned over to jest with his little brother.

"I heard that my damned nephew rides with the Dragon Queen," Lady Maege Mormont said in her scratchy, deep voice. 

"He does. He has...regrets about his dishonor of your house," Benjen managed politely. "You'll see him soon enough, I suppose." 

Maege snorted and turned back to Greatjon Umber, sharing a bawdy laugh at some long-forgotten jest. 

Jaime looked over at Benjen, who just rolled his eyes. "I've never seen the north so lively," he said. "It's like you people  _ welcome  _ an eternal winter."

"Oh, nothing like that," he said. 

"You Starks are a grim people, but your bannermen seem to more than make up for it." Jaime saw Ned watching them out of the corner of his eye. He was too Lordly to openly scrutinize them, but he was keeping a keen eye out nonetheless.

Reaching out, he very lightly brushed Benjen's thigh with his hand.

Benjen choked on his ale.

"All right, Ben?" Greatjon asked, mildly concerned.

Benjen shook his head and didn't look at Jaime. "Yes. Something irritating the throat, that's all."

Jaime chuckled. "We've all experienced it," he said. 

"Some of us more than others," Benjen replied bitingly. 

Lord Stark was fighting the urge to cover his face, his mouth a tight line of barely restrained fury. 

The children were at the table below them, raucously enjoying the company of other Lord's children. Jeyne and Sansa gossiped prettily while Arya hooted and hollered with Gendry, Lommy and Hot Pie and a pair of girls who could only be Lady Maege's daughters. They all looked happy. With the Boltons gone, the North had flourished separate from the tension and fear of the war. But the dead loomed, a shadow of dread over the peaceful castle.

Robb and Theon were sitting with Dickon, and the contrast between the tanned and gregarious Lord of the Reach and the two black and grey clad northern boys was nearly a joke in itself. He regaled them with some tale and they were exchanging the look of two captives, crying for escape.

"That was cruelly done," Benjen said when they finally found themselves alone, in Benjen's room. "Ned is already beside himself."

"He is an easy target for cruelty," Jaime said, shrugging. "If he's going to watch us as though we're children, I can't resist. If he wishes for kindness, he can mind his business." 

Benjen shoved him into the bed. "You'll never endear him to you that way," he said, pinning Jaime to the mattress. 

"I don't think I ever have a chance of making noble Lord Ned Stark love me, especially not when you have me like this in his own castle."

They both laughed briefly before Benjen leaned down, his hand in Jaime's hair. The candles eventually guttered out.

He woke near dawn and redressed, thankful for Winterfell's strange constant warmth. Leaving Benjen sleeping behind him. He shut the door very quietly, turning only to see Lord Stark walking by.

Ned shook his head, sighing exasperatedly and continuing down the hall without a word.

Jaime found a bit of food to break his fast and then wandered down to the forge. Gendry was already at work, the sun rising behind him. He looked like Robert had when Robert had taken the crown. A true king. How would Daenerys react to the sight of him? A bastard boy with no claim and no interest in a claim was no threat, but would she perceive it that way? 

Arya was sitting in the forge, watching Gendry from a perch on the table. Her eyes were trained on him with open interest, and he was entirely oblivious to it. He almost pitied the girl, but he didn't think she'd have much trouble winning him over once he figured it out. 

"It's fragile," he was saying to her. "But I think I have it." 

"Boy," he said, making his presence known before he was caught watching some adolescent mating ritual. 

Gendry looked up. "Ser Jaime?" 

"I was wondering if you could make me a sword," he said. "I'm tragically short on Valyrian steel, but a dragonglass sword might get me far on this mission."  "So you're going? Beyond the Wall?" Arya asked, her dark eyebrows raised in keen interest. 

"I'm First Ranger, Lady Arya, it's a ranging," he said dryly. 

"Aye, I can," he said. "They're a bit more fragile than a steel sword, I'm not sure how long it will last you." He gave a graceless jerk of his shoulders. 

"Then make me two, boy." 

"Fine." He paused. "Ser." 

"I trust the quality of your work, lad. Just find me when you've completed it." He hooked a thumb into his belt and felt the pressure of the dagger hanging there. 

Tyrion had pressed it into his hands before he'd left. "It's of no use to me," he said. "I won it off Littlefinger at the last tourney. Valyrian steel." 

He considered it. He wasn't much for daggers. It was the sort of weapon that required a speed that, truthfully, he lacked, especially in his old age. 

"Lady Arya," he said, eyeing the sword on her belt and the crude drawing of a double-ended spear in her hand. "If the White Walkers get passed the Wall, you'll find good use for this," he said. "Valyrian steel, courtesy of Tyrion." 

She unsheathed the dagger and tested the weight of the blade as though it were second nature. The keen look in her dark eye maddeningly reminded her of Tyrion's sellsword, all clad in black and better armed than many a knight. 

"Many thanks," she said. "I'm almost sad I won't get to use it." 

"I suppose you get that bloodthirsty nature from your mother," he said.

She started to respond, a smirk on her face, before a commotion down in the yard pulled their attention. Jaime walked out of the smithy, Arya trailing behind with Gendry, to see the gates opening, and a mule drawn cart pulling into the courtyard. 

Samwell Tarly stepped off of the cart, Gilly and her child following behind. 

"I...Dickon?" he squawked.

"Samwell!" Dickon said, bounding over to embrace his elder brother. He wondered how Randyll Tarly would react to seeing his sons embrace. Not well, probably. "I hadn't thought to see you here!" 

"Nor I you," he said. "And you brought Heartsbane?" 

They began speaking more quietly, left alone for a moment until Benjen strode across the yard. 

"Brother Sam," he said. 

"Lord Commander," he stuttered with a clumsy bow. "I know you meant for me to forge my chain," he said. "I made some progress, but I… I would like to speak with Jon," he said. 

Benjen's Commander facade slipped for a moment. "As would I. What for?" 

"It's about...I shouldn't say." 

He knew. He'd found out. If Daenerys Targaryen found out that Jon was Rhaegar's bastard son, there is no telling how she would react. The more people who knew, the more danger he could be in. 

Benjen took Samwell by the shoulder. "Let's speak privately, lad. Gilly too." 

They brushed past Jaime, Benjen casting him a doubtful look. 

He would rather be fighting the White Walkers at that moment, trying not to think of the additional complication that had just marched into the courtyard.


	36. Chapter 36

They prepared for the ride to the Wall two days later. Samwell was to ride with them, to speak with Jon when they found Mance Rayder's settlement on their way. He would have better luck than anyone else. The banners would wait and ride north when Daenerys made it to Winterfell, so their riding group was small. 

All the better, it would allow them to move quickly. 

Only, some of their party were missing. 

Jaime was coming from the smithy, where Gendry had finished the weapons they were taking with them. The dragonglass swords were not as lefty as a longsword, but he liked the feel of them, and the skill taken to create them was clear. 

They were armed with arrowheads and daggers and spears, shiny black glass. Horses gathered in the yard, supplies and food to last the march and then some extra, for the brothers in black.

He heard a thump and a muffled protest, a feminine voice hidden behind a wall. Jerking the door to the nearest room open, he found a small closet, currently being occupied by Theon Greyjoy with too many kraken tentacles wrapped around Jeyne Poole.

"Jaime!" she yelped, shoving Theon off. He lost his balance and fell into the opposite wall. 

Jaime didn't speak. 

"I was just wishing Theon safe travels!" she stammered. "I'm sorry to have delayed him, Ser…"

"Calm down girl," he said, muffling a laugh. He jerked Greyjoy out of the room by his collar. "We ride in half an hour, Greyjoy. Get your cock in your pants before I take that nice sword your sister gave you and leave you here with the women."

He wondered if Theon might like that too much, judging by the flushed giggle Jeyne let out. Still, something primal and defensive welled up in his chest and he sent Greyjoy on his way, barring Jeyne from following.

Jaime didn't know how to be anything but blunt. "You enjoy this, correct?" he asked. "He is not forcing you to dishonor yourself?"

"No, no. Theon is perfectly gentlemanly," she said, a ladylike flush on her cheeks. "We haven't done anything…like that. Just kissed a bit…"

"Good." He had no idea why he thought to preach to her, as if he respected marriage vows or society's view of decency in his life. He simply...well, he remembered a scared girl who had been mistreated by Littlefinger, and he couldn't shake it, even as she was grown and happy. She wasn't his daughter, but he felt a little like she was his responsibility. 

"Ser Jaime," she said, as they walked back out to the courtyard, sounding stricken. She grabbed his arm tightly. "Please bring him back to me," she said. 

He looked off towards the north, where the Wall waited for them. "I will, my lady." It was a lie, more than likely, but he wouldn't live long enough to witness her disappointment, so it was a kindness in his eyes.

Jeyne turned and reached out to embrace him, squeezing him around the middle tightly. "You have to come back, too."

He smoothed down her hair where it was still ruffled in the back. The words caught in his throat, but he managed to force them out. "I will, my lady."

The short walk to his horse might have been miles. 

They set out through the gates, the cold air swirling around them as light snowflakes began to fall. He looked back before the gate closed, and saw Jeyne there, clutching Sansa's hand and waving.

He waved back and looked towards the north.

  
  


It only took a day's ride to find the wildling camp. A flurry of cheers greeted them as Tormund's children surrounded him, thrilled to see him still alive after his journey south. 

He began regaling them with a tale of peril that sounded vaguely like their trip south, only with a lot more flourish to it. Tormund had single-handedly negotiated with the dragon queen and, possibly, bedded her or a dragon or both to hear him tell it.

Karsi scoffed as she moved to squeeze him, her daughters shouting their delight.

"Can we camp here for the night?" Benjen asked Karsi, stiffly polite.

"I suppose I can't refuse you, Lord Crow," she said.

"My lady --" Samwell asked, terrified at the sight of her. 

"Just Karsi, lad," she said, not unkindly. 

"Karsi. I was wondering if...Jon Snow. Is he here?" he asked. 

Benjen had declared that no one would speak to Jon until Samwell had. He had taken Sam aside and explained his parentage, the entire story. Samwell had found some long forgotten tome where some half-drunk Maester had recorded that he wedded Lyanna Stark to Rhaegar, and Samwell thought that, in the wake of the dragon Queen's arrival, he should know his claim. Benjen had told him otherwise very quickly. 

No one would view Rhaeger marrying Lyanna as legitimate. No one knew when it had happened or if it even had, truly. 

Samwell deflated a little, and understood. Being reassured of Daenerys' justice and kindness did seem to help. Seeing the camp that Jon had begun to call him, Jaime felt like this was the best place for him. Hidden away at the end of the world just as Ned Stark had intended, but among people he loved, who wanted nothing from him. 

She pointed to a small tent not far from the entrance of the camp, and Sam walked over and disappeared inside.

"We have extra tents, but you'll have to share," Karsi said. "Just so some of my men don't kill you in your sleep, little lordling," she said, a ribald wink at Theon.

He smirked at her, and Jaime cuffed him across the head. 

"Lord Stark, Theon, shall we find a tent?" Dickon asked gamely. 

"I'll share with Samwell," Jorah said.

Theon looked around for anyone to share with, clearly hoping to escape Dickon, but it wasn't likely to happen.

Jaime gave a lingering look at Jon's tent before letting Karsi's older daughter show him to an empty one. 

"The man who lived in this one died," she said with all the sweet bluntness of a child. She skipped off to rejoin her sister and mother, and Jaime collapsed into the tent, among the ragged furs the dead man had left behind. All the good stuff had been picked over, but there was at least space for their bedrolls.

"I hope Sam can get through to Jon," Benjen said.

"Jon's a man grown," Jaime said. "He'll come if he wants to. If he's truly so hurt by Ned Stark's lie, let him lick his wounds and leave him be." The sweet lies they told their families often stung far more than they ever intended them to. 

"You're right." He grumbled. "I hate that you know you're right."

Laughing, Jaime finished fussing with his bedroll and situated himself to be comfortable. They would need to eat before long, but he'd been ahorse for so long that now it just felt good to stretch. "You Starks are always right, in the end. Winter is Coming," he said, listening to the faint patter of snowfall on the tent. 

Benjen sighed. "I wonder if winter ends with the Night King," he said. 

"Doubtful. Besides, I'd hate for Ned to have to think of new words for your house."

They both laughed, hollow and tired.

For better or for worse, it would all end soon. He had never been like Tyrion, he'd never boasted that he would die at eighty drunk with a woman in his bed. He'd always expected to die young. In battle, or at the behest of a vengeful Lord. And he always thought he'd die with Cersei, but…

Well it seemed like she'd follow him into the grave soon enough if she was truly mounting this folly.

"If they get past the wall --" 

"I know," Benjen said. "We're all lost." He looked thoughtful. "Maybe I should go with you."

"You're Lord Commander, your place is on the Wall. You need to be there when Daenerys arrives." They had discussed it at length and agreed. Benjen stayed to wait for the armies.

"You've been beyond the wall thrice, I've been a hundred times or more," he pointed out.

"And if you die, the wall falls. If I die --"

"The Wall falls," Benjen said. 

"Only you'll fall," he corrected. "And you will recover."

Benjen didn't look convinced, but instead of arguing it he sat up. "We should join the others to eat," he said.

The Free Folk were gathered around big fires, talking and laughing and singing. They found Tormund's fire and took a seat next to him. "The Elders are worried," he told them.

Across the fire, Jon sat with Ygritte on one side of him and Sam on the other. He looked at the two of them with an obvious sadness in his eyes. He wasn't angry at his uncle, but Jaime could almost see the Stark pride holding his tongue.

Robb and Theon bounded up, ruffling Jon's hair and yelling their joy at seeing him. He smiled, turning away and embracing his brother. 

"You're joining us, right, Jon?" Robb asked.

Jon hesitated. "Aye."

"We are," Ygritte said.

"We've discussed this," he said sharply. "You're not risking your life for this."

She was going to argue with him, but not with everyone sitting there. He would hear it later. Jaime made sympathetic eye contact with Jon. _ I understand, lad.  _

The conversation pivoted to old milkmaid tales of the Others, and Karsi asking after Mance. It was a calm night, a night of drinking and merrymaking. Subdued though it was, it was the right tone for the night before such a storm. He could feel it looming on the horizon even as he corroborated Tormund's ridiculous tales about the city. Benjen was shooting him sly, fond, exasperated looks as he goaded the wildling on. 

Jaime understood why Jon was here, and he wanted to stay too. Maybe they would never cross the Wall, maybe they would just claw at it until the snows melted and took them with it.

Not bloody likely, he thought bitterly as he tried to sleep. 


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who has two thumbs and is actually finished writing this fic? me! it's big and dumb and silly but it's my big dumb silly fic and if you want like, a thoughtful and thorough canon divergence AU you should go visit my bestie ~merrymegtargaryen and read theirs, because they've written a few and they're all works of art and i pale in comparison. ANYWAY.

They arrived at Castle Black before noon, leaving Samwell Tarly and Benjen behind to organize the defense of the Wall. He could hear the dead moaning in the tunnel. They hadn't frozen it as he had suggested, which he supposed was good in the end. The Unsullied could not walk through walls, no matter their fierce reputation. 

"I set the lads to take shifts at the gate. A bit of fire takes them out. Tunnel fills back up in an hour or less, but it keeps them from breaking the gate," Yoren said. "The raven came from Eastwatch this morning. Stannis landed and means to march towards Castle Black any moment now." 

"Good." 

With that, Jaime, Theon, Robb, Jon, Dickon and Jorah rode hard west to Night Fort, where Samwell said the tunnel through the wall had not collapsed with disuse yet. The hoard was concentrated on the gate of Castle Black. Fighting through that with so few men would be folly -- if they got through they would immediately succumb to the mob.

They had to go around and strike from the side. The hope was that the confusion caused by Stannis's charge would create sufficient cover. If it didn't, the dragons would relieve them. 

They just had to survive long enough for the Queen to arrive. It was not a long ride to the Night Fort, but evening had fallen by the time they arrived at the crumbling ruin that had probably once been a bustling outpost. They found shelter in the ruin and set out bedrolls and constructed a small fire. 

"Lord Drumm didn't want to be parted with it," Theon said gloatingly to Jon, showing Red Rain to him. "But my sister had different ideas," he added with a chuckle and a smirk. "He wished to give our birthright to my Uncle, and he's lucky he only paid for that disrespect with his sword." 

"If we're speaking of the Iron Price, perhaps I should have it," Jaime jested. "It's the Reyne's ancestral sword, is it not? I think the Lannisters have claim to that," he said.

"Get your own," Theon shot back, narrowing his eyes. 

Jon smirked at his expense, chuckling with his brother. Cousin. 

Whatever.

"They say this place is haunted," Robb said as they startled at a noise. Probably just a rat sent scurrying from the sound of their voices. Nothing so sinister as that. 

"If ghosts were real, boy, most every place would be haunted," Jaime said, though he had to admit that the sound did seem too loud for a rat. Not big enough for a ghost.

"We'll need our sleep if we mean to face the dead in the morning," Jon declared, looking incredibly bored at the prospect of ghosts.

They all settled into their bedrolls, placed close together out of pragmatism: no amount of masculine insistence would make it less likely for them to freeze to death, after all. 

On the morning they made their way through the tunnel and turned east towards Castle Black. It was dark, though it couldn't be past noon before they stopped to rest. They would keep their distance for as long as they could, they had decided. 

"The storm is blocking the sun," Dickon said astutely, looking up at the deep gray clouds. The storm stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions. 

"Very keenly spotted," he said in a dry tone, as Grey Wind darted through the snow with his brother. Off to hunt, now that they had settled.

"How are we meant to get anywhere in this storm?" he asked, not unkindly. He was young, Gods. He'd never been this far north and he'd never fought in a battle like this before. Why had he come? Oh yes. To buy Lord Tarly's loyalty. 

"Patiently," Jaime said. A fire was not an option; the stores of dried meat would have to suffice. They weren't far from the army of the dead. The roaring winds made his skin crawl. Any crack of the branches could be the ambling of the dead. 

He thought about the rushing madness of Hardhome, and tried to turn his focus back to a strip of dry meat. No time to dwell. They were here to end this, weren't they? He had made good progress in his life by not contemplating the horrors he'd put behind him. 

Jon, Robb and Theon clustered together, Dickon nearby. Jorah leaned against a tree, arms crossed in surly condescension. They were in view of the wall, for as much visibility as the snows allowed them. Yet he still felt as anxious as he had when they'd been hundreds of miles away at Hardhome. 

Their fire was pathetic, and offered little warmth. A wolf howled. Grey Wind returning from the hunt? 

A second wolf howled. Jaime had never heard Ghost make a sound. So who was responding? 

Jaime got up, sword in hand, gesturing for the rest to stay silent. Jorah followed, apparently too old or stupid to follow basic orders. 

Slinking through the trees, a wolf bigger than Grey Wind, but not by much. It stopped howling when it spotted him, yellow eyes glowing in the dim light of the snow.

"Nymeria," he said, his voice flat. If Nymeria were here -- that only meant one thing. 

"Lady Arya?"

A black shape dropped from the tree above him, silent as a shadow. 

"What in the seven hells are you doing here?" he demanded. Arya brushed snow off her black jerkin and straightened up to look at him. Tyrion's dagger was thrust into her belt, and a dragonglass spear on her back.

"I'm here to help kill White Walkers," she said matter of factly.

Jaime grabbed her by the arm and dragged her back to where the others were gathered.

"Greyjoy, Stark. Take your sister back to your uncle at the wall before she gets herself killed," he said as the lads gaped at the sight of Arya among them. 

Robb and Theon stood from where they had begun to lay out their bedrolls. "Gods, Arya, what were you thinking?"

"You can't take me back, there's no time," she said. "We have to defeat them, right?"

"Yes,  _ we _ . Grown men with swords. Not you. Lord Stark will have my bloody head for this if I don't send you back."

"Which Lord Stark?" Theon asked, the ghost of a smirk on his face. 

"All of them," he said grimly. "Give her to Benjen and rejoin the fighting when he rides north with the dragon queen. Don't let her trick you. Lock her up if you must." He turned back to her, defiant in the face of his scolding. "I have a cell in Castle Black with your name on it." 

Robb sighed, clearly restraining laughter at his sister's antics. They found their horses in the dark and he helped hoist Arya onto the back of his.

The hissing, rumbling of the dead was on them before they knew it. The horse reared and bolted, Arya toppling from its back. Robb grabbed her and Jaime drew his sword, fighting a mass of dead men as they clawed and moaned. 

The first wave was easy to beat back, shattering against dragonglass and hard steel. Dickon grabbed a burning branch from the fire and lighting up half a dozen wights that threatened to surround him.

The fire cleared a path, however briefly. They had no horses. They had their own two legs and whatever space they could carve for themselves through the snow and ice. 

"We should go back to Night Fort!" Mormont called over the din. 

They all watched as the dead poured in on all sides. 

"We can't fight through them. We have to move forward. All of us," he said, casting a glare at Arya as she stabbed a wight with the obsidian edge of her spear. He might have imagined the ghost of a smirk on her face. Satisfied. 

The trees took to Dickon's flames despite the snow, and the wights struggled to push forward. 

As soon as they found some distance from the wights that had assailed them, Jaime looked up. The Wall was out of their view, and at the bottom of the hill they found themselves on, he saw the Army of the Dead, shambling and jostling.

"That's him," Jon said. Atop a distant hill, with an army of corpses between them, they saw the Night King and his generals standing sentinel. He turned his blue gaze towards them, and Jaime found himself frozen in place by his gaze.

"There's an army between us and them," Dickon said, his voice thick with the fear that had overtaken them all.

"Hopefully that means there isn't an army between them and Stannis," he said. "Keep the fire going, dip the arrows in the pitch. Let's get started." 


	38. Chapter 38

The battle raged for hours. For days. It could have been weeks. It didn't take long for them to get surrounded on all sides, but their vantage point kept them safe. A fire burned around them in a ring, only big enough to deter the weakest of the wights. 

"Arrows are low," Theon announced, nocking the final regular arrow they had brought with them. He lit the oil soaked tip in the flames and took out a wight that had ventured too close to their stronghold. He had dragonglass tipped arrows, but he clearly had a mind to save them for when they were closer to the White Walkers.

It seemed they had the attention of the Walkers now, as more wights turned and began to surge up onto the hill, burning themselves to allow their brethren a path through the flames. Jaime swung the dragonglass longsword over and over again, wights exploding in a spray of bones and long decayed flesh. Arya's dragonglass spear made similarly quick work of them, but they would be overwhelmed before too long.

A column of flames erupted through the back of the army of the dead, a chorus of pained screeches shattering the cacophony of steel on bone. 

A war horn rang.

"It's about fucking time," he called. The thunder of hooves drowned out the cries of the wights, and the fiery hart of Stannis Baratheon waved in the air. As if the White Walkers cared who was attacking them. The wights turned to rush the approaching army, the pressure on their band finally relieving. 

"Let's go," he shouted, and they dove into the retreating backs of the wights. They ran down the hill and met the mounted lances of the Baratheon army in the middle. 

Jaime was tired. His muscles ached and his hands burned with the weight of his sword. 

"Don't slow down old man," Theon called, smiling. 

"You're the one slowing down," he shot back, comically untrue. Another burst of flames to their right and he finally saw the source -- The Red Woman astride a black horse, and Thoros of Myr behind her, his sword burning. 

The wights seemed to be pushing the cavalry back, the initial shock of the attack wearing off. It wouldn't take long for them to regain the upper hand. Jaime didn't care. He kept slashing and stabbing, swathes of wights clearing from his path with every swing of the sword. 

Then he saw one; its white hair and blue skin glowing through the thick gray snows, sparkling in invisible moonlight. A White Walker. Up close and personal. A chill ran through him, but he swallowed fear as he had always swallowed fear. Fear was for the nights. Fear was for the Winter. 

  
Though he supposed that meant fear was for now. 

It didn't matter. Terror would not stay his hand. He raised the dragonglass longsword in challenge, and the icy spear met him. It slammed into his side, one quick dodge from impaling him. He dodged more fierce spear thrusts, jamming the dragonglass deep into the chest of the Walker. His blue skin turned glass clear and with a great cracking, the beast shattered.

He felt a cold hand on his shoulder and he turned to the other Walker. Shit. Fuck. He reached back and grabbed the smaller sword strapped to his back, and slammed it against the Walker's outstretched arm. 

He shattered too, and Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. 

Another blast of flames, but not from the ground. He looked up and saw  _ them _ . 

The  _ dragons _ . 

Hundreds of wights melted into nothing, the snow turned to water under their feet. Mud and ice slipped underneath their boots.

The Night King turned his eyes to the dragons as they wheeled and breathed flames again. He stood and endured the flame, and nothing happened. 

The wights were obliterated but the Walkers remained. 

He raised a spear in his hand and launched it towards the dragons. They scattered, diving below the cover of the Wall.

And the horn blasted again - the shouts of the Dothraki filling the air as the Unsullied joined the fray. The air was full of fire and ash and snow as they struggled through the pulsing, ever growing army of the dead. 

It felt like for every wight he cut down ten more appeared, snapping dead jaws at his elbow and tugging on his cloak. He was nearly overrun more times than he could count, and every joint and bone in his body screamed for reprieve. He couldn't stop.

He didn't realize until he looked up and saw the hill that the Walkers stood on how  _ close _ they had gotten in the fighting. Dickon Tarly ran a Walker through from the back, it shattered and Heartsbane found its mark in another one.

Robb and Theon stood back to back, Theon with dragonglass tipped arrows and Robb holding Ice aloft. Flames swirled around them as more and more Walkers fell. More and more dead fell with them, but they were still outnumbered. 

The dragons roared and lit the battlefield up once again. Jaime ducked.

He saw the blur of black and gray as he looked up. He saw a burst of fire clear the path, and watched Arya Stark take a running leap off a rock that had been exposed by the rapidly melting snow. 

Time slowed down as he watched the girl lunge for the Night King just as he turned his unnatural blue gaze to Jon, his spear thrust out. 

It was an inch from Jon's eye when he froze, Arya perched on his back, Tyrion's Valyrian dagger in her hand. He turned faster than Jaime could even see, choking the life out of Arya as she held the dagger up in her right hand. 

He swung wildly at the wights that threatened to overtake him, trying to push through to the girl as her brothers shouted her name. The dagger fell from her hand slowly. More slowly than time should've allowed.

And she caught it in her left hand and jammed it into the Night King's throat. 

The shriek of shattered ice and crumbling bone cut through the air. The dead fell around them; exhausted and bloody, Jaime fell with them.

"Don't die on me old man," he heard someone say above him, but he was content to die here in the ash and the mud if it was his time.

  
  


The dead dreamed, he discovered. He dreamed of corpses overrunning the walls of Casterly Rock. He dreamed of ice shattered and the shrieking music of dragons.

He dreamed of King's Landing burning, and woke. No longer dead.

He saw dark hair to his right and blinked. "Stark."

"Not a Stark," the low voice of Jon Snow met him. "I can fetch Uncle Ben if --"

"Ah, it doesn't matter." He pushed himself to sit up and his entire body screamed in painful protest. 

"Samwell says your ribs are broken," he said. He was in his furs, looking entirely like the wildling he had become. It suited him. "You need to rest."

"Arya?"

"Fine. And a hero. She says she won't let it go to her head."

Jaime laughed, and it hurt.

Jon's smile began to fade. "Jorah Mormont died in the battle, and many brothers and Dothraki and Unsullied alike. But it's over."

"We shall never see their like again," he said.

"We shall never see their like again," he agreed. 

Benjen leaned in the doorway, smirking. Jon's grew still and quiet. He stood and gave a stiff nod of acknowledgement as he left. Benjen's eyes hardened at the cold reception.

"He'll come around," Jaime wheezed, still struggling to sit up.

"You know, you're not much of a First Ranger," he said. "Everytime you go beyond the wall, you almost die. Maybe you should be my steward instead."

Jaime shook his head. "I don't think I could live my days as your loyal servant," he lied, finally giving up to slump against the cushions. "What happened after?"

"The dead fell with the Night King. We lost a lot of men. Daenerys is being hailed as a hero from Dorne to the Wall. Arya too. Daenerys has returned to King's Landing."

So quickly? "How long was I asleep?"

"Only two days. She made haste south." He hesitated, sinking heavily into the seat Jon had once occupied. "She -- the city was taken while she was north."

"Cersei?" he asked.

Benjen grimaced and nodded.

"I should have killed her when I had the chance," he said, running a hand through his filthy hair. It would take nothing for Daenerys to defeat Cersei, but it would certainly destroy all the good will she had accumulated by saving them from the dead if she destroyed King's Landing to root her out.

"You wouldn't have been able to," Benjen said, as if he knew. As if he understood. "You love her."

Jaime cringed. "That doesn't matter. She could live her days as a rich woman in peace and instead she'd rather be queen of the ashes…" 

It hit him hard. Harder than any dead men or ice spears. He stopped and looked up, meeting dark eyes that hadn't caught up to him.

"I need to ride for King's Landing now."

"You've got broken ribs and you're more bruise than flesh, Jaime. You need to  _ rest _ ."

"If Daenerys attacks King's Landing, the whole city will be destroyed. She doesn't know. The wildfire."

Benjen shook his head. "Send a rider."

"No. It has to be me. I killed Aerys for that wildfire. Now I need to save his daughter from it."

Benjen sighed. "You  _ cannot _ leave."

"I'll come home," he said, reaching out to his arm. "I will."

He closed his eyes and leaned away from Jaime's outstretched hand. "I forbid it. I'm your Commander. Daenerys might execute you. She said...before. She thinks you're in league with Cersei. You  _ can't _ go back."

"As you command," he said, turning away so the lie wasn't written on his face. 


	39. Chapter 39

He thought about resting at Winterfell, and his aching body nearly demanded it. There would be time to catch up with Jeyne and Arya and all the rest later, or at least he hoped there would be. 

As for now, there was no time. The ride to King's Landing was long, but he was only a day behind Daenerys' army. He ached every moment he was on the saddle. 

It hurt to defy Benjen's orders, but he knew he had to do this. His honor had been tainted by that wildfire, and he didn't fancy letting Daenerys become her father's daughter in reputation because it went off as she struggled to take back the city, especially when he knew her to be a just ruler, and it was his fault Cersei was alive to do this in the first place. 

If he kept his head, he'd make his way back to the Wall and plead forgiveness. Wouldn't that be a sweet sight? He assumed Benjen would find some enjoyment out of him on his knees. He usually seemed to. 

He caught up with Daenerys' army at Most Cailin, resting from the long journey south. The Unsullied called Grey Worm led the march, a Dothraki who spoke passable Common informed him.

"Where is the Queen?" he asked the Unsullied when he approached. 

"She flies ahead," he said.

"I need to speak with her," Jaime said insistently. "About the invaders in King's Landing."

His eyes narrowed. "Ride with me, Kingslayer, and I will bring you to my Queen," he said. His voice was flat and unchanging, but Jaime knew he understood the urgency, just by the look in his shrewd, dark eyes. 

It was easier to march with the army. He didn't push as hard, the pace easy to match the injured still among the Unsullied's ranks. Grey Worm was a natural leader, and their days of marching bred an intense respect for the man in Jaime. Quiet, stern, and sensible.

They came upon the dragons two days south of Moat Cailin, drinking water at the Red Fork. 

"My Queen, the Kingslayer says he needs to speak with you," Grey Worm said when they approached.

Daenerys looked tired and grief-worn. She had left Margaery in the city, and now the city was under siege. She had lost one of her trusted friends in the battle that had made her city vulnerable and now someone she cared for was in danger because of it. 

He didn't blame her for being tired. 

_ He _ was tired.

"Ser Jaime," she said, her voice severe. "What is it?"

"King's Landing," he said. "They've taken the city but it's a trap." She didn't respond immediately and he took it as an invitation to keep speaking. "You cannot fire upon the city."

"I don't understand why you're lecturing me on strategy, Ser. Are your loyalties still with your sister? The Lord Commander spent so much energy convincing me otherwise." She crossed her arms and he heard the angry huff of the black dragon behind her. "She has your brother captive, you know?" 

He hadn't even thought of Tyrion. Gods, this was a mess. "Your father placed caches of wildfire underneath the city. I believe Cersei knows about this and wants to goad you into attacking with the dragons and setting it off. You'd kill thousands without even meaning to." 

Daenerys looked towards Grey Worm, concern in her purple eyes.

She didn't verbalize the conclusion, so he went ahead and said it. "You cannot bring the dragons to King's Landing."

She considered it for an agonizing moment. "I...I understand. I will focus on the lines outside the city for now. I've sent word to Lord Stannis. He and Lady Greyjoy have already engaged the Golden Company's ships. We proceed carefully. They know our numbers have been depleted from the Long Night." She leaned over and said something to Grey Worm in Valyrian, and he nodded and turned to address his Generals.

She turned back to him with a thoughtful look. "I didn't know that, about my father," she said.

"Not many people left alive do. He loved wildfire. He would have burned the city to the ground to spite his enemies." He didn't have the strength to speak the whole story to her, but she seemed to understand.

"I will  _ not _ be my father. I will not risk the citizens of King's Landing to reclaim the throne. I thank you for your information."

She meant it as a dismissal but he couldn't stop himself. "Let me go into the city alone. I could distract Cersei while you mount an attack. Keep her away from whoever is in command so she can't give any orders. Secure Margaery and the prince." He had no idea what he intended, but the words escaped his throat before he could stop him. 

"I don't think --" she stopped. "If this is a scheme to help your sister escape my justice, I will find you and kill you," she said. "But you know that. You've come this far to help me, so I don't know if my suspicion is warranted." She laughed a little, shrill and desperate. "I can't believe I'm trusting the Kingslayer."

"That's what they all say." He paused. "I'm the shield that guards the realms of men, Your Grace," he added. "And I am finding it easier to keep vows in my old age."

"Well, it's hard to keep vows to people not worth serving, Ser. The Mad King was not worth serving. Your Lord Commander is quite a man, though." She smiled.

Jaime was too tired for pretense. Instead he focused on his horse. "It's still a long ride to the city, your grace. I'll bring you Cersei."

Lion banners and striding huntsmen and twin towers greeted them outside of the city. Apparently Dickon's captivity in the north had not outweighed Randyll Tarly's disdain for the "foreign invaders". What sort of father would risk his own son's life over this? Well, he would not remain Lord of Horn Hill much longer. 

"Is there a way into the city unseen?" Queen Daenerys asked as the Unsullied began forming their ranks. "Perhaps we could send a battalion to recover Margaery…" 

"I think one brother in black could make it in, yes," he said. "An army couldn't." He still ached and groaned at the slightest agitation. His hope was to find Cersei alone.

But what would he do when he did? Send her back to Volantis? Choke the life out of her for her refusal to just live and let this foolhardy obsession go? Give her to Daenerys as he promised? 

He thought of all the ways that Robert had secreted whores into the Red Keep, back when he had shame about his whoring, in the early days. He thought of the smuggler's coves favored by pirates and Onion Knights. It wouldn't be easy, not with bruised ribs and the persistent exhaustion of a man riding nonstop for a fortnight. But he thought he could make it in.

"I'll try to give you as much time as I can," he said, pulling up the black hood of his cloak and setting off towards the city on foot. 

  
  


It was quiet, he discovered. Windows were shuttered. The streets were empty, despite the brisk, forgiving temperature. Winter had come to King's Landing, but a gentler winter than the Walkers had promised. For all the thanks they would get for it from these people.

He had been face to face with the Night King, and yet he was more afraid now.

The Red Keep seemed entirely devoid of life. He sucked in a sharp breath - nearly a silent prayer that Brienne had Margaery and the Prince safe somewhere, away from Cersei's clutches.

He pushed the doors to the throne room open and crossed it in a few quick strides, pushing away his hammering heart. He didn't know what he had expected. 

But upon the Iron Throne sat a young man who was nearly his own double. This was not Cersei.

Joffrey leaned against the swords of Aegon's vanquished foes, a dark shadow of when Jaime once sat upon that same throne. Standing at his shoulder, a flayed man sewed to his chest, was a pale, dark-haired man, smirking a contemptuous smirk.

"Uncle," he said, gregarious and malicious. "Or I suppose I should say Father. It's good to see you again. It's been a long time "


	40. Chapter 40

"Where is your mother?" he demanded. He was a man grown, true, but it seemed unlike her to put the only child she had left to her in harm's way. Something must have happened. 

"Not here," Joffrey said idly. "Women, you know. They're weak. She was going to be in the way." He looked to his companion, who kept smirking. Jaime  _ hated _ that smirk.

The flayed man spoke next. "She didn't seem to understand that Joffrey was the  _ rightful King _ , not her," he said, in a voice that was reedy and yet distinctly Northern.

"So you killed your own mother for the throne?" he asked, a surge of rage filling him. He had come into this world with Cersei and had always assumed he would leave it with her. Now...well. There was more to live for now, but he hadn't thought… Much like Tywin, Cersei had always seemed invincible in her way. Like she would weather anything. To be murdered by the person she loved most in the world… He guessed it was ironic considering what he'd come here to do.

Joffrey feigned shock. "Oh, no, Father, of course not. I'm not a kinslayer!" He paused long enough to give Jaime a brief glimmer of hope. "Ramsay did it. But it was much easier to raise the gold by using her name at the Iron Bank."

_ Ramsay _ . "The bastard of Bolton," he said, a slow moment of realization. "You abandoned your father to Ned Stark's sword and now you think  _ Joffrey  _ will give you the North?" he guessed, reading everything he needed to know about this bastard from a disinterested glance. He could kill both of them right here. "Big dreams for a bastard." They were both greedy boys who had no idea what waited at the city gates.

They would be nothing to him, if it came to blows. 

"King Joffrey has seen fit to legitimize me. And when we retake the Capitol from that savage slut and the armies of Westeros rally to our cause, we'll take the north from the traitorous Starks and I will rule. And I will marry Joffrey's sweet sister and be a Prince, his brother by law." He looked down at Joffrey with a kind of look in his eyes, a sort of shine of malevolent fondness. 

Joff looked back at him with the same look. 

Gods, he was  _ him _ . An arrogant fool. They even had the same taste. His son had grown up to be the worst parts of himself without him even being there.

"With respect, two bastard boys playing at war don't stand a chance against the Targaryen army." They would not take Myrcella too. He strode up to the throne, ignoring Bolton's half-drawn blade. Even hurt, tired and old, he felt no fear from these two green boys. 

"We have the might of the Golden Company and the Second Sons and the Stormcrows. They're being led by a man who was betrayed by the dragon queen. He knows her weaknesses. How we can defeat her." He didn't seem unnerved by Jaime's looking, but she should have. 

"Walk with me," he said, pulling Joffrey out of the throne by the collar of his silken shirt. He wasn't even  _ dressed _ for war. At least the bastard of Bolton had the decency to wear some leather armor. 

"I'm not afraid of a forty year old knight," he told his attack dog. Still, Ramsay followed, hand still on his sword. He watched keenly, and if he realized that Jaime was stalling he had no doubt that sword would be in his back in an instant. So he walked briskly and with purpose, a hand on Joffrey's shoulder and the other hand on his dagger.

They walked out onto the ramparts and from there it was a clear view off towards the Kingswood, where the shouts of battle filled the air. "Your Frey wife will be losing many uncles and brothers about now," he said. Then he turned towards the Blackwater. "And Stannis Baratheon is the finest military commander living in the Seven Kingdoms. Do you truly think men who fight for gold can defeat him?" 

"I have something none of them have," Joffrey said, too stupid to realize his defeat. "I have Daenerys' heir. Her  _ dear friend _ Margaery. That sort of deviance must run in the Tyrell blood. I'll have to stamp out their house entirely. That's what Grandfather would do." He was smiling, cool and comfortable. 

Had Jaime been this stupid at 18? Or however old he was now? Stupid and hateful and arrogant?

"And the wildfire. You know all about that, I suppose. All I have to do is give one signal and the city is destroyed. The dragons, out of control, you see. No one will want the Mad King's daughter ruling them. They'll cry out for their rightful King. Robert's true heir."

Jaime felt a thrill of anxiety as he realized that he was now in between Ramsay and Joffrey. Maybe he was the one who had fallen into a trap, here.

"And when you've slaughtered your citizens? Will they love you or will they love the trueborn boy clutched at Margaery's breast?"

"I. Am. The. King." He gritted his teeth. "I'm waiting until Daenerys comes to face me herself before I kill the little usurper and his whore mother. And Uncle Tyrion, too. You'll like that, won't you, Father? They're all very small. I'll launch them in a trebuchet to her if she doesn't meet me."

Jaime didn't respond. He turned just as Bolton drew his sword, and met the blow. They were standing on a two foot wide bride. A long drop to the courtyard below. Bolton's dagger found his side before he could make a second strike, and Jaime vainly, madly wished people would stop stabbing him. 

His hand coated with blood, he knew he couldn't fight Ramsay Bolton. Instead, he ducked down and swiped his dagger across the back of the bastard's ankles as he turned. A shove from the hilt of his sword was enough to send him tumbling over the edge. The crack of his neck echoed.

Wide-eyed and  _ finally  _ realizing he was in danger, Joffrey ran. Maybe he had thought that Jaime held some paternal affection for him, but that wasn't going to be a shield.

Jaime didn't care to chase him. He likely couldn't. There were more important things. More important people. 

So Jaime ran down and down and down. To where he had been held so long ago. The black cells. He'd hoped to never go back down there in his life, but there had been a lot of things he'd hoped he'd never have to do. It didn't matter. 

Indeed he found Tyrion there, though looking distinctly untroubled by the disturbance. 

"Margaery and Orys?" he asked, flinging the unlocked door open. 

"At the end. I just sent Bronn…"

Of course Tyrion was two steps ahead of him. "Could've used him a moment ago."

"Gods...Jaime…" He took in the bloody sight of his brother, reaching out for him. He shook it off. He wore black so people didn't see him bleed, right? "Are you…"

"I'm fine."

Margaery's cell was crowded; Brienne and Loras stood guard over her, Orys and Myrcella. Joffrey had locked away his own sister? After bargaining to marry her off to a monster? 

"Loras, Brienne. The Pyromancer's guild. They mean to destroy the city with wildfire. I can show you the way. Tyrion, guide Margaery and the prince through the tunnels. Stannis is in Blackwater Bay and will take them to safety."

"Where will you go?"

"I suppose I must discipline my son for once," he said, flashing what might pass as a confident smirk. The cell door was strong, but a few swings of a sword sprang the lock. "You need to get out of the city quickly. If Joffrey sets off this wildfire, those who survive need to know the truth. He means to use it to destroy Daenerys' reputation more than anything else." 

Tyrion nodded solemnly, reaching for Myrcella's hand. "Let's go."

They left the black cells together. Loras and Brienne stayed with Jaime, Tyrion and the others splitting off. He knew the way to the Pyromancer's guild.

"I'll take you part of the way and then I'll return to the Red Keep," he told them, though he felt his own energy waning as they rushed. 

The clay pots started appearing just before they made it to the guildhall. It was all still there. What sort of madness had kept him silent all these years?

There was nothing to do for it now. 

And their grim march was cut abruptly short when Bronn swung the door to the underground storeroom open, throwing Joffrey out onto his face at their feet. "I expect you don't want to be a kinslayer," he said. "So I took the liberty of doing it for you. His trigger man too." There was a slumped man bearing the twin towers of Frey on his breast behind Bronn, a burnt out torch in his hand. 

Jaime rolled the boy over and he was already gone, the bloody but somehow neat wound in his chest the only damage. It was as though he was looking at himself twenty years ago. 

He didn't feel a thing. 


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is over but don't worry I'll be back on Jaime/Benjen bullshit soon. It's the best crackship I've ever invented.

Bronn was hailed as a hero of the city. The singers and mummers would say he nobly defeated the beastly Bastard Kings (a catchy if misleading name for Ramsay and Joffrey) in single combat as they threatened to destroy the city. Jaime welcomed it. There were already too many songs about Lannisters. 

"Commander of the City Watch does not need to have songs sung about him," Bronn had complained, though Jaime could tell that he was loving every bit of the attention, praise and fame.    


It was near a week before he was strong enough to leave, and Daenerys was very intent on rewarding him in spite of his reticence to accept it. "I could release you from your vows, allow you to be Lord of Casterly Rock," she said, with the tone of someone trying to bargain. She wanted to repay him his bravery. "I could --" 

"Casterly Rock belongs to Tyrion. It always has," he said. "I took a vow. I'll return to the wall to honour it. I appreciate your consideration." 

Daenerys frowned. "You helped save the city. You helped save people precious to me," she continued. "Daario Naharis sold me to Joffrey for the crime of trusting him with the care of Meereen. You, allegedly the least honourable man in the kingdom, cared enough for my honour to risk your life for it. I  _ have _ to reward you."

"Fresh bandages and a fast horse for the journey home," he said. "It's all I need. Ser Bronn will appreciate knighthood, and all that comes with it. No one sings songs for crows."

"A royal escort at least?" She was asking that because he looked as though he might die at any moment, but he didn't need it. 

He shook his head. "I'll make better time alone."

He wasn't alone, when he set out north, however. Brienne of Tarth insisted she escort him, and he didn't have the patience or desire to talk her out of it. She was a stubborn one. 

"No one else is strong enough to lift you back onto your saddle once you fall," Bronn jested.

"I'm not getting fat."

"I'm not getting fat,  _ Ser, _ " he corrected smugly. 

Brienne was rolling her eyes, finishing up her horse. "Let's go, then, Ser Jaime." 

She was a pleasant travel companion, mostly because of her disinterest in socializing. She rode hard, built strong fires, and didn't believe in an abundance of smalltalk. He mostly slept when he wasn't riding; he was all scars and bruises and blood bandages, stiff and angry and red underneath the black cloak. He really was getting old. 

"What brings you north?" he asked as they camped by Moat Cailin. 

"I'm escorting you because you're injured," she lied, determinedly skinning a rabbit she had snared. "At your age, a fall from your horse could be lethal." 

"Very funny. You're very witty, once you start talking," he shot back, rolling his eyes, which were basically his only body part not screaming in pain. "So you're not coming north to visit with a particular wildling? Husband to Bears? Maybe you've met him?" he asked innocently. 

To his delight, Brienne turned as red as a blushing maid. "You know, I would be mindful of mocking me, considering what the Husband to Bears knows about  _ you _ and your…" she paused thoughtfully. "Proclivities." She smiled. "If Tormund and I are as close as you think we are, then that means I know a lot of terrible things about you."

"Brienne, I'm known across the Seven Kingdoms for fucking my own twin sister," he said bluntly. Her blush darkened. "Do you think I give a fuck if anyone knows I fucked the Lord Commander?" Maybe he had never actually admitted it out loud to anyone else before, but he really didn't care. He was done hiding. They'd had their fun, right?

Brienne recovered quickly. "Well, according to Tormund it was the other way around."

He paused and glared at her. She erupted into a fit of laughter. Not polite, girlish giggles; real laughter. It made her look much younger and much fairer, and he found himself laughing alongside her, though it was more of a pained wheeze than a laugh.

Winterfell was a welcome sight, and Lord Stark's usual frostiness didn't dampen anyone else's enthusiasm at their arrival. Jaime was even shocked to see Jon Snow there, visiting with his family, the wildling girl Ygritte at his side. Tormund nearly took him off his feet with a hug that threatened to crack the rest of his ribs and reopen his barely healed wounds. 

"Kingkiller. I thought you were dead when I went to Castle Black and you had disappeared," he said, releasing him. "No one would tell me where you went."

He doubled over and groaned. "Well, I won't be alive much longer when I get back," he said, though he hadn't given it much thought. "Lord Commander Stark is likely to take my head." 

Tormund laughed. "Don't be a fool," he said. "He's too soft for all of that."

Jaime shook his head. He  _ had _ abandoned his post and disobeyed the Lord Commander's direct orders. That was death. That was always how it had been and always how it would be. He would just have to go face it. "I'm going to rinse off before supper." 

Tormund was fine to leave him, strutting off to where Brienne was in conversation with Sansa. 

He bathed and dressed for dinner. He had been giving clothes in King's Landing; nothing resplendent, but a fresh black cloak and leather. It felt good to put on something clean. He was startled by the knock on his door, and found Jeyne Poole waiting outside. She didn't jump into his arms like she clearly wanted to, instead hugging him very gently. He was grateful for the light touch. 

"I'm glad you came back safe," she said. "Myrcella is all right?"

"Yes. She's staying in King's Landing with Tyrion," he said. "And you're well? And Lord Greyjoy?"

She blushed. "Both all right. You…" She stuttered. There was something she wanted. "You approve? Of Theon? Right?" 

Jaime considered it. Smug, smirking Theon Greyjoy, the son of a treasonous cunt of a lord. He was hardly any father's dream. ...Not that he was Jeyne's father. And not that he had ever been anyone's father, or knew anything about fatherhood. But he did know that Theon Greyjoy, for all his bluster and arrogance, had dragged him out of the snow to safety after the Night King fell. And he knew that Jeyne was happy, and for some reason that mattered. 

"I do. Oddly enough. He's a good lad." In spite of all of the odds stacked against him. 

She beamed. "I'm glad."

"Let's go before we're late for dinner."

He sat at the end of the table, far away from Ned Stark, but close enough to Robb, Theon, Jon and Dickon, who apparently was staying in the north for a little while longer, and had ingrained himself amongst the lads. 

A sidelong glance at Jon and Ygritte gave him a shock, when he noticed the faint roundness around her middle. When his eyes met Jon's, he smiled and nodded the slightest bit. 

Good for him. He deserved the happiness he'd found with the Free Folk. He did not need to live some ominous Targaryen destiny. He had helped save the world, and now he was allowed peace. They all were. 

Jaime focused on his ale, turning to where Brienne sat to his left. Not striking up conversation, just listening as Arya regaled her with the tale of her heroism.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, but when he left to go to his room for the night, Lord Stark himself stopped him. There they were, alone in a hallway, two men who had always and would always loathe each other. 

"Ser Jaime," he said. "You'll ride for Castle Black in the morning?"

"At dawn if I can," he said coolly. "I would hate to impose."

"So I won't have to execute you for a deserter," he concluded. 

"No, I suppose not. I mean, if you'd like to, you can," he said. "Maybe it would be kinder for you to take my head now, instead of making your brother do it later," he added, reaching out and straightening the edge of Ned's sleeve. Maybe it wasn't right to goad the man who had his life in his hands, but Jaime had never been the best decision maker. "It would be a cruel thing to execute a deserter, when you house one under your roof at the same time." 

That seemed to give Ned pause. "Benjen will make that decision. He knows his duty."

What had Maester Aemon said? 

Love is the death of duty.

"I'm sure he will, Lord Stark. Thank you for the hospitality. I'll be gone before you wake, don't trouble yourself on my behalf," he said as he pivoted around a thoughtfully silent Ned and found his chambers again. 

He didn't sleep well. Dreams of hanging. Dreams of beheading. Half the time it was Aerys killing him, or his own father. Or Cersei. But he woke from dreams and stared at the ceiling, and then the dreams resumed. By the time the first light of dawn filtered through the windows, he was grateful for the excuse to leave. Barely anyone was awake, which he appreciated. Saying goodbye had never been his strength. 

There was more snow between Winterfell and Castle Black, but it was light, fluffy and easy to traverse, even as it was annoying. He made good time despite the weather and his own injuries. His arrival at Castle Black felt like a homecoming, even as he dreaded facing the man he'd betrayed. 

A horn blew. 

A gate opened. 

Edd Tollett waited within, looking unimpressed. "Took you long enough," he said, shaking his head and waving Jaime inside. "I'll fetch the Lord Commander."

Jaime stood in the courtyard, watching a mix of brothers in black and wildlings rebuild broken defenses and clear away accumulating snow. Things were peaceful despite the bustle. An overwhelming fondness overtook him at the sight of all of them. Grenn was running drills for a gaggle of 12 year olds fumbling with practice swords, while Pyp mocked him in the background. 

A door opened at the top of the stairs, coming from the Lord Commander's quarters. Benjen Stark stood high above him. He looked the same as he ever did; bearded and wolfish and regal. Jaime wished things could have been different. 

"First Ranger," he said, not at all the tone of someone addressing a deserter. "I'm glad to see you've returned from the south." 

He was home.


End file.
